The Price of Life
by Firefly Alchemist
Summary: Mustang is a defense lawyer in new York City, aimed for the top, when an interesting case comes across his desk involving a fifteen year old boy, Edward Elric, who supposedly shot his mother. The farther Mustang digs, the deeper the mystery runs, and the more convinced he becomes that Edward isn't guilty. Can he and his paralegal, Riza Hawkeye, prove Edward's innocence? AU. Royai.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Okay, despite my extreme business and incredible inability to finish a story, I have decided to start another multi-chapter one. Sigh. I started writing this ages ago, based on a scene or two in my head, and although I have large plot ideas for it, if I'm being totally honest, I doubt I'll be updating regularly. It's kind of a weird idea, but AUs are so much fun to plan, and I started thinking about this idea and I found such fun roles for the characters that I had to write it down. Anyway, I'm not sure what will come of this, I'm really just posting it because it seems to silly to write something and leave it sitting on the computer for the rest of time. I hope you guys like it!**

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On his way to midtown Manhattan, Roy Mustang stopped by a small coffee shop a few blocks from his work. In addition to the expected coffee, it housed an assortment of muffins and other small pastries under the smudged glass counter. Mustang leaned down, eyes trailing over the options as though his choice was of the upmost importance. After a moment's contemplation, he straightened back up. "I'll take a black coffee, a chai latte, and blueberry muffin," he informed the woman behind the counter with an air of arrogance that was to be expected from a young, New York professional.

The woman barely inclined her head to show that she'd heard his order. Her short brown hair that was pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and the bags under her eyes made it clear that she would've rather been anywhere instead of taking coffee orders at seven thirty in the morning. "Will that be all, sir?" she asked, reaching down to pull a muffin out from the display.

"Yes," Mustang answered, a flirting smirk wrapping its way around his mouth.

The woman perked up a little at the look on his face. "And will that be for here or to go?" she asked.

"To go."

She deflated slightly, but nodded. She called the order to a few employees working behind her. Within a few minutes, she handed a tray of drinks as well as a small brown bag to Mustang.

"Thank, you, sir." She said as he turned to go.

Mustang nodded in acknowledgment and left the small shop without any further ado.

For a morning in early May, the weather was surprisingly nice in New York City. For the first time in weeks, the sky wasn't overcast with the threat of rain, and the temperature was finally starting to go up. It was for this reason that Mustang had decided to forgo his usual taxi ride in favor of the longer walk to work.

After a few more minutes of side stepping cyclists and barely managing to pull the drinks out of the way of early morning joggers and too-curious dogs, Mustang was standing in front of the skyscraper, F. Bradley: Practitioners at Law. Architecturally, the building was nothing remarkable, in fact the term 'skyscraper' could only be applied to the building loosely. Although it was almost fifty stories, it was easily dwarfed by the buildings surrounding it. It almost exactly mirrored the clichéd image of a large office building. Perfectly rectangular in shape, its gray walls were marked with periodic windows, the same number for every floor, all the way up to the top.

Without pausing to take in the building's profoundly dull appearance, Mustang quickly entered the swiveling glass doors.

Even at eight in the morning the office was bustling with people. Billable hours started as early as possible, and the associates, who were required to reach 2,400 hours a year, almost always got to the office early to get a jump start on the day.

A smile played on the corners of Mustang's lips as a particularly harried young attorney almost ran in to him, and he remembered his own days as an associate.

Roy Mustang had worked at the law firm F. Bradley for a total of six years, including the two summers he interned there while still in law school. In that time, he had reached the exalted position of junior partner, a practically unheard of jump in ranks after only four years of being an associate. Most credited his quick rise to his charisma and vaguely arrogant charm that (for some reason) got clients to open up.

F. Bradley was the leading defense firm in New York City. Although their New York office was by far their largest and highest profile, the firm had smaller operations in a scattering of towns throughout the northeast of the US. The firm was fairly new, it's founder, F. Bradley himself, was still a practicing attorney. The older multi-generational firms had been forced to make way for the rising behemoth. In such a fast growing corporation, getting clients to open up and be honest was an invaluable skill that greatly cut down on the hours of research that would otherwise be needed to win a case.

Mustang quickened his pace, just barely managing to catch the elevator before the doors shut. He took a moment to regain his breath, taking the time to check to make sure that the drinks were all right. Just as his breathing started to return to normal, a shoulder jerked into him. He turned his head sharply, and sighed as soon as he saw the shoulder's owner. One Frank Archer. He was a new associate attorney. Renowned for his ruthlessness in the courtroom and his incredible ability to discredit the prosecution's witnesses, in any other law firm he would be heralded as the great up and comer, the golden boy. Any law firm at which Roy Mustang didn't also work that is.

Archer glared at Mustang as he exited the elevator. Mustang pointedly ignored him, instead focusing his attention on the items he was carrying.

A few minutes later he got off at his floor. As he entered his office, he was greeted by his legal team.

"Hey, Chief," Jean Havoc said, cigarette smoke curling around his head.

"You know there's a no smoking policy in this building," Mustang replied dryly, looking at his paralegal.

Havoc shrugged, as though the policy didn't pertain to him. "The Lieutenant's not here," he said, as way of explanation.

The Lieutenant was the affectionate nickname Mustang's team had given Riza Hawkeye, Mustang's most senior paralegal.

Mustang frowned. "You know, technically I'm the one in charge here."

Havoc laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, chief."

"Yeah, well those things'll kill you!" Mustang retorted in what he was fully aware was a completely juvenile response.

Havoc laughed and flicked some ashes from the end of the cigarette into an ashtray at his elbow.

"Yeah, put it out!" Heymans Breda, the last of Mustang's three paralegals, said, coming up to stand beside Havoc. In a quick motion, he snatched the cigarette from between Havoc's lips and pressed it into the ashtray. "Just because you want lung cancer doesn't mean the rest of us do."

Havoc glowered, "Hey! Not cool, man!"

Mustang rolled his eyes at their antics. "Where's Hawkeye?" He asked the rest of his team (Havoc and Breda were still bickering behind him) as he placed the coffees and muffin on his desk.

Kain Fury, a young tech wizard looked up. "I think she's at the police station. She got a tip from one of her contacts that there might be a case," he said in an uncertain voice. He was the newest member of the team, and quite an anomaly. It was highly unusual for a legal team to have a tech guy as a member, but with a little push from Mustang, the senior partners had given him permission to hire Fury. Fury's insights on any technical aspects of cases were invaluable. Plus, Mustang liked the kid, even if he was constantly nervous.

"Falman?" Mustang asked the final member of his team, their information coordinator. Vato Falman had an excellent memory, perfect for keeping track of every piece of info in cases as well as having aptitude for remembering even the most obscure and outdated laws.

Falman stood straight up as Mustang called his name. "Yes, sir! Fury is correct, sir. She left for the precinct about half an hour before you arrived. She said she would call you with an update after she had more information!"

Mustang sighed. Falman was definitely efficient, but he could stand to loosen up a little. "Did she leave any details about what the case might be about?"

"She did not sir!"

"Thanks, Falman," Mustang said, waving his hand to tell the tall man to return to work. He sat down at his desk and opened the nearest file. They had just been in court the previous week, which meant that Mustang had a fairly light load of work. He just had to finish up some paperwork for their last client, and then it would be time to start a new case. He spared a moment to wonder what the one Hawkeye was looking into was.

Staking out the police station was a fairly common gig for associates. They were all scrambling to get as many hours as possible as well as to bring in big clients to impress the partners. Soon, however, they almost all realized that it was simply more trouble than it was worth. They might be able to pick up a few extra hours, but fishing for clients was almost always a bust. The ones that were rich enough to impress the partners always had their own attorneys. Sometimes, the associates would get lucky, and catch someone just firing an incompetent lawyer, or perhaps someone who had just come into money. All in all though, these cases were fairly rare and ultimately the slim chance was not worth the subway ride to the station.

The idea of a partner staking out the police station was almost unheard of. They were big enough and had proven themselves competent enough that the clients came to them. It was a matter of pride among the senior lawyers that no advertising was necessary (god forbid they sink to the level of ambulance chasers and the like). Mustang's priorities rarely lined up with the rest of the partners, however, not that he was about to tell them that.

He leaned back in his chair (the paperwork in front of him forgotten) and wondered about the details of the case. He reached for the paper bag from the coffee shop. Just as he was pulling out the blueberry muffin, his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked, taking a bite of the muffin.

"Sir, it's Hawkeye," came the reply.

"Great, great," he said, mouth full of muffin.

There was a static-y sigh from the other end. "I think you need to come down here, sir."

"Why?" Mustang asked, leaning forward, elbows pressed against his desk.

"There's a case you want to take."

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 **A/N And that's the first chapter. More of a prologue really but whatever. Please review/favorite/follow! I've got the next chapter and I'll probably post in in a few days, but I'd really love to hear feedback on this one!**

 **Other notes: I am not a lawyer or otherwise involved with the American legal system, but rather a 17 year-old high school student so if any information in this chapter or future ones is wrong, I apologize.**

 **Also, despite the fact that Archer is a character, this is definitely more of a Brotherhood fanfic than original series. He just seemed like the best character to fit the archetype I was looking for. Anyway, that's it! I hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for future postings!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you guys so much for all the reviews/follows/favorites on the last chapter, despite the fact that nothing actually happened. This chapter is pretty much the scene that I built this entire AU around in my head, so hopefully it turned out okay.**

 **And, as mentioned in the previous author's note, I am not a lawyer and have only a high school understanding of the legal system. That being said, I did do some research, but I had trouble finding the exact information I needed and got bored rather quickly and ended up deciding to kind of fudge the things I wasn't sure about. I sincerely apologize for all mistakes. The same goes for the geography of New York City.**

 **Anyway, please enjoy and don't forget to review!**

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"So what's so important about this case, Hawkeye?" Mustang asked, meeting his number one outside the police station. He was carrying the chai latte he had bought earlier (now completely cold) and handed it to the woman in front of him.

Hawkeye took a sip of the tea, and, if the coldness bothered her, she didn't let it show. "You want it, trust me," she said quickly. Too quickly.

Mustang narrowed his eyes. "And the details?" he asked, holding the door open for her as they both entered the building.

She sighed. "It's not great, sir." She hesitated a moment, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. "A fifteen-year-old kid shot his mother."

Mustang took a step back and let the door swing shut. "What?"

"At least that's what the police say."

"Oh, that's what the police say." Mustang ran a hand along the edge of his mouth. "And what evidence do they have to back up this undoubtedly wild claim?"

Again Hawkeye hesitated. "His finger prints are on the gun, her blood was all over him, and when the cops burst in, they saw him standing over the body." Her voice was monotone, as if she was reading out items on a shopping list. "Oh! And according to neighbors and friends he has some anger issues."

Mustang stared at her, incredulous. She met his eyes with a subtle confidence, obstinately refusing to show how extreme the evidence was. After he had glared at her stubborn expression for a few moments, he found himself looking away. "Tell me again why I want this case," he asked.

"Because he's innocent."

The simplicity of her answer brought his eyes back to hers. "What makes you so sure?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Look, I know it seems bad, but all of the evidence is circumstantial. There could be a million explanations for it. I mean if a kid walks into a house and finds his mother dead or dying on the floor, it's completely reasonable to think that he would grab her, or try to stop the flow of blood. And, if the real shooter wiped the gun beforehand and he picked it up, it could explain the fingerprints…" Hawkeye trailed off.

"That's not a lot to go on," Mustang said.

"That's reasonable doubt." Her voice was definitive, leaving no room for argument.

Mustang sighed. "Fine, maybe he didn't shoot his mother, but let some other lawyer prove it." He started towards the door, but Hawkeye blocked his path.

"If you don't represent him, he'll go to jail." Her voice had the same confidence as when she'd declared the kid innocent.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because he's not doing himself any favors." She sighed. "Right now, he's sitting in the interrogation room refusing to cooperate, insulting the detectives, and killing any chance he's got. If you stick him with the rookies they assign for public defense, his trial will last all of ten minutes."

Mustang groaned. "You're not going to let me out of this, are you?"

"It's unlikely, sir."

He paused and looked at her for a moment. She was as proper as always, shoulders straight, blonde hair crisply pinned up, and shirt spotless and unwrinkled. To a casual observer she would appear fine if perhaps a little detached, but from the slight tension in her jaw and something he couldn't even pinpoint in her stance (the way her knees were bent?) he could tell this mattered to her. Mustang groaned again. "Fine, I'll take it, but only to get you off my back."

Hawkeye smiled. "I expected nothing less."

"So what's this kid's name?"

"Edward Elric. He's fifteen, and lives on the south side in a small apartment with his mother, Trisha Elric, and little brother."

"No father?" Mustang asked.

"The police haven't been able to track him down. Seems the mother had been raising the boys on her own for years."

Well wasn't that a picture. Fatherless kid living in a bad part of town snaps and shoots his mother, not to mention the cherry on top that was known anger issues and refusal to cooperate. Mustang sighed. The prosecution was going to have field day. Yep, he already knew he was going to regret taking this case. "Where is he?" he asked.

"In interrogation room 3 with Buccaneer. I watched some through the glass, but they wouldn't let me in. I talked to his brother who's sitting with Neil. Nice kid, insists his brother is innocent, which seems hopeful."

"Well I guess it's time to meet my client." With that, Mustang marched confidently towards the interrogation rooms, Hawkeye following closely behind. As he approached them, he caught sight of a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, with dark-blond hair and big gold eyes sitting haplessly on a bench. He slowed, and nodded to the kid as they passed. "The brother?" He whispered to Hawkeye.

She nodded in confirmation. "Alphonse, fourteen years old."

"Does he have anywhere to go?" Mustang asked, feeling a pang for the kid despite himself. He couldn't help it, the boy just looked so pathetic and confused huddled on the bench, eyes downcast. And no wonder, his mother was dead and the police were saying his brother did it.

"I don't know, sir."

"Find out. If we're taking this case we're doing it right."

Hawkeye nodded and peeled off to go and speak to Alphonse.

Mustang continued a few more feet, stopping when he reached the third interrogation room. He paused a moment, taking in a deep breath and collecting his thoughts before he pushed open the door.

The scene that greeted him was more less what he was expecting. The lights were low and a shiny metal desk sat between two people. On one side Detective Buccaneer, a huge man with his head shaved on both sides with a long black braid running down the center, was leaning over the table. He was wearing a collared shirt rolled up at the elbows and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. An NYPD jacket hung on the chair behind him. It was clear they had been there for a while. Across from the Detective sat a fairly scrawny teenager (Mustang couldn't tell from where he was standing, but he would wager the kid was pretty short as well), with shoulder length blond hair. He was leaned back in his seat (as far as was possible with his hands cuffed to the table) and was glaring at Buccaneer. Both turned when Mustang entered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Buccaneer asked as the door swung shut behind him.

"I think the real question is the what the hell are you doing?" Mustang responded confidently, moving to stand behind the kid, and staring the large Detective in the eye.

"This is a _murder_ investigation!" Buccaneer thundered angrily. "I don't care who you think you are, Mustang, but you can't come barging in here like-"

"I'm Mr. Elric's legal counsel."

"Who the hell are you?" the kid asked, turning in his chair to look Mustang over contemptuously. "I didn't hire any lawyer."

Buccaneer ignored his suspect and continued glaring at Mustang. "There is no way the PD's office sent _you_ over."

A mocking smile spread across Mustang's mouth. "Wonderful observation! It's good to know that some detective work gets done around here."

Buccaneer's eyes narrowed. "You have no right to be-"

Mustang moved to the other side of the desk so he standing only inches from the Detective. "Actually I do." His voice was deathly calm. "You however have no right to be interviewing my underage client without a parent, guardian, or representative from child protective services present."

Buccaneer gritted his teeth. "There's not a parent here because he shot the only one he had!"

"You bastard!" The kid made as if to launch himself at the detective but was stopped by the handcuffs.

"That's enough!" Mustang said. "Now, unless you have a court order to arrest my client, we're leaving."

"You can't just walk out of here with a murder suspect!"

"Oh yeah? How about we see what the Ice Queen has to say about this?" Mustang turned to face the mirror on the wall behind Buccaneer. "I'm sure she's watching." He raised his voice. "Hey, Olivier!" He walked up to the glass and banged on it a few times for affect. "Unless you want me to sue your entire department for misconduct, you better let my client go!"

They waited a few moments, and then the hallway door swung open. A women entered, maybe in her late thirties with pale blonde hair loose around her neck and expression of intense dislike on her face. A badge on the lapel of her perfectly-pressed jacket designated her as the police chief.

"Olivier! How nice to see you," Mustang said, lopsided grin on his face.

"It's Chief Armstrong to you." She glared at the lawyer for a moment. "You've made your point, Mustang."

"Hey, no need to get huffy, I'm not the one who illegally interviewed a minor."

She stepped forward, eyes steely and mouth set in a stiff line.

Mustang had to swallow the instinctive impulse to back away. Her glare was very impressive, almost equal to Hawkeye's.

"This boy is a suspect in a murder case." She said, her voice hard as ice.

"This boy is fifteen years old."

They glowered at each other for a few more moments, until Armstrong abruptly turned on her heel. "Fine."

"But Chief-" Buccaneer started to say, but was cut off with a hard stare.

"Cut him loose, Detective."

Buccaneer mumbled a few curses under his breath, but turned to the table and began undoing the handcuffs.

Edward didn't react, seeming too bewildered to even really realize what was going on.

Armstrong turned to face Mustang. "I am holding you personally responsible for this, Mustang. If this boy escapes or harms anyone else, you are the one who is going to answer for it."

Mustang resisted the urge to role his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Don't let him leave the city. You should expect official charges in a few days."

Mustang nodded. A few days. It wasn't a lot to work with, but after seeing the kid for himself, he couldn't help but agree with Hawkeye. Edward seemed innocent.

Buccaneer took Edward's shoulder and roughly shoved him towards Mustang.

The kid still seemed confused and stumbled a bit.

Mustang caught him, and unceremoniously herded him out of the room.

"Ed!" A voice cried as soon as they entered the hallway.

Mustang turned and saw the brother (Al something, Albert? Alfred? Alphonse, that was it) running toward them. He jumped at his big brother, hugging him tightly.

"Al…" Edward mumbled, belatedly wrapping his own arms around his brother's neck.

Hawkeye came to stand beside Mustang. "They don't have any relatives, but there's a neighbor, Pinako Rockbell, who used to look after them whenever their mother couldn't. Apparently she's the one Edward called with his one phone call. She and her granddaughter are on their way here, now."

Mustang sighed. "There's been a change of plans. I got them to let Edward go, but Olivier said official charges are coming soon. Unless we want him to spend his trial in jail we've got to start preparing for the arraignment now. Get a hold of the Rockbells and tell them to meet us at the office. We need all the information we can get."

Hawkeye nodded and hurried away, undoubtedly off to bully some poor rookie officer into letting her borrow their phone.

Mustang turned back to the reunion scene between the two brothers. "This is very touching and all, but we need to go," he said.

Edward and Alphonse turned to face him, one looking grateful the other deeply suspicious.

"Who the hell are you?" Edward asked for the second time. "I didn't hire a lawyer, and like Detective Asswipe said, there's no way you're a public defender."

Mustang wasn't sure if he should chuckle or be offended, but luckily, Alphonse seemed more equipped to deal his brother than Mustang.

"Brother! Mr. Mustang just got you released!"

Edward looked at the younger boy incredulously. "You know who this is?"

Alphonse blushed. "Miss Hawkeye told me they're representing you and are going to get you off!"

Edward glared back at Mustang. "What's in this for you?" he asked bluntly.

"Brother!" Alphonse exclaimed again, but was ignored by both Edward and Mustang.

"Excuse me?" Mustang asked.

"You heard me. What's your game?" The teenager had untangled himself from his brother's embrace and stepped forward to face Mustang head on. The lawyer had to admit the kid certainly looked the part of a young hoodlum, loose black tank top and baggy black pants, not to mention the oversized red hoodie that was draped over one arm. Mustang spared a moment to wonder what had happened to the bloody clothes. The police must have confiscated them and Edward was most likely wearing an outfit his brother or some police officer had picked up from home or happened to have lying around.

"There's no game-" he started to say.

"Oh so you're just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" Edward asked sarcastically. "We don't have any money, so you must be after the fame."

"Fame?" Mustang asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, fame. I'm not an idiot. A case like this is going to get a lot of attention from the media, especially if you play it right. I bet you just want to attach your name to it and increase your exposure."

Mustang had to hand it to him, this kid was sharper than he looked. "I'm the number one defense lawyer in the state, trust me, exposure is not on the list of things I need."

"Yeah right, you're a lawyer! Any publicity is good publicity, right? It doesn't matter if you lose as long as your name gets in all the papers."

"Brother!"

Edward turned to face Alphonse. "We can't trust people like him! He's just looking out for himself, he doesn't give a shit what happens to us."

"Mom would want-"

"Mom is dead, Al." Edward's voice was hard. "It doesn't matter what she would've wanted."

Mustang wasn't sure if Edward noticed the tears forming in Alphonse's eyes. He sighed. "I have my own reasons for defending you case—I'm not going to deny that," he said calmly. "But they're not nearly as short-sighted and self-serving as you think. I promise that my main goal in all of this is to prove your innocence."

"See?" Al asked, but Edward still seemed far from convinced.

"Besides," Mustang continued. "I'm your best—actually your only shot. Think what you want of me, but without my help, you're going to spend the rest of your life in jail."

Edward was still glaring at him. "I can survive prison."

Mustang almost groaned, this kid was unbelievable! Who the hell did he think he was fooling? All he was going to do was get himself in more trouble. Mustang sighed. "Think about your brother, what's going to happen to him if you get arrested?"

For the first time, Edward looked concerned. He glanced down at his brother instinctively, and Mustang knew he had hit the right spot.

"You may be able to survive jail, but how is Alphonse going to do alone in the foster system?"

Now Ed looked downright scared. "He won't go into foster care, Pinako will take him…" he said, though his wavering tone gave away his uncertainty.

Mustang shrugged. "Sure, if you think the court will allow an old woman who isn't a blood relative to take in a teenager from a dysfunctional household." In truth, he had no idea what the law said in regards to such things, but he had learned a long time ago that if you sounded confident, people around you would believe almost anything.

And, from the looks of it, Ed wasn't willing to run the risk. The teenager sighed. "Fine, you can represent me."

"Thanks for the permission, I'm jumping for joy," Mustang said sarcastically.

"But I still don't trust you." Edward seemed compelled to add.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mustang said, leading the boys to the doors of the police station. As the two kids stepped out onto the street, Mustang watched them with a vaguely foreboding feeling in his stomach. Yeah, he was going to regret this.

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 **A/N So there's chapter 2. It might actually be the longest continual scene I've ever written, but that's not important. I have the next two chapters written, so those updates will happen on the next two Saturdays, but after that I'm not really sure. Anyway, please please leave a review or a favorite or follow for the rest of the story!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I know that I said that I would have this up by Saturday, and honestly there's absolutely no reason for the delay since it's been fully written for a few except for the fact that I kept forgetting to post it. Anyway, I don't have a lot to say about this one, aside from please forgive any mistakes, legal or otherwise. Oh, someone pointed out that I had spelled "Fuery" wrong in the first chapter, but that has been fixed, as well as like two super minor edits on the last chapter. Please enjoy, and please to review/favorite/follow!**

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After she informed the Rockbells of the change in plans, Hawkeye left the police station to join Mustang and the two boys. She found them waiting for her on the street out front, arguing. Well, Mustang and Edward were arguing, Alphonse was standing sheepishly to the side, nodding his head in apology to everyone who walked by. She sighed. Really, she couldn't take Mustang anywhere. Alone with a fifteen year old for three minutes and he was blocking traffic with a heated shouting match.

"I am not short!" Edward was yelling as she approached them.

Hawkeye came to a stop beside Alphonse. The boy looked up at her, cheeks red, and mouthed 'sorry'. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn't have anything to apologize for, he had had a trying day—more trying than most people could even imagine. So had Edward for that matter. Mustang on the other hand was a grown, (fairly) well-adjusted man with two degrees and condo in New Jersey. He had no right to be acting like a kindergartener.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Mustang said in a voice that clearly meant that he had intended to offend Ed. "I just pointed out that your younger brother is taller than you."

"Who are you calling a germ so tiny you need two microscopes to see him?"

Mustang put his hands up, ridiculously amused grin curled across his lips. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, I had no idea you were so sensitive about your height! I'll be sure to never mention your extreme shortness again."

"You bastard!"

Hawkeye decided it was time to intervene when Ed started forward angrily, fist raised. She quickly put herself between them. Holding a hand up to each of them, she said, "Okay now boys, as fascinating as this debate is, I think it's time we all took a breath and turned our attention to things that actually matter." She accompanied this with a pointed look at both of them.

Edward reluctantly put his arm down.

"Thank you." She turned to Mustang. "Sir, may I talk to you in private for a moment?"

Mustang spared another second to glare at the teenager in front of him. "Fine."

Hawkeye rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to drag him away by his ear. "Thank you, sir." They moved a few feet away, until they were out of earshot of the boys, conversation drowned out by the monotonous sounds of traffic and street-drilling that always seemed present in the city no matter where you were.

"What is it, Hawkeye?" Mustang asked after they had come to a stop.

Instead of responding, she punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his arm, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"Edward is fifteen years old!"

"What?"

"And he has just lost his mother and spent the past three hours being interrogated by the police!"

"Hawkeye-"

She ignored him. "There is no excuse for your behavior! You are a grown man, I should be able to leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into a fight with grieving teenager!" She took a breath. "Sir," she added lamely.

Mustang frowned, looking down at his shoes. "He started it."

"Oh for God's sake!"

He laughed. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye, alright? I'll be more considerate in the future."

She glared at him.

"I promise, okay?"

Finally she sighed. "Come on, sir. We don't want the Rockbells to beat us to the office." As they started walking back to the Elrics, she couldn't resist adding, "And I hardly touched you, sir. You shouldn't be such a baby," and smiling at his offended expression.

They rejoined the two teenagers, and after a few minutes, Hawkeye had flagged down a cab. It was a tight squeeze, Alphonse was shoved up against one window with Edward next to him.

As Mustang tried to scoot over to make room for Hawkeye, he ended up hitting his head on Edward's shoulder. "Ow! You'd think for someone so small-"

Hawkeye sent a warning glare at her boss, and he swallowed, cutting off suddenly. It was too late though, and Hawkeye leaned her head against the cool glass of the window as the argument was started again, and resigned herself to a loud ride.

* * *

By the time they reached the office a few blocks away, Mustang and Edward's fight had simmered down to an uneasy truce, punctuated now and again with suspicious glares. Both Hawkeye and Alphonse were extremely relived to have arrived, and Hawkeye quickly paid the cab driver and herded the other three into the lobby of the building.

To say they seemed out of place was an understatement. Simply by being under the age of twenty-five, Ed and Al were an anomaly in the polished lobby, not to mention that even Alphonse (who had bothered to put on a collared shirt and khakis) seemed exceedingly underdressed surrounded by three-piece suits and sleek pencil skirts. That coupled with the fact that they were accompanied by the illustrious Roy Mustang meant that stares followed them the entire walk to the elevators. As the heavy metal doors slid shut and Hawkeye could still feel the looks practically burning a hole through the three inch steel, she was glad that she had thought to call ahead and warn Havoc and the others of their arrival. Although the boys seemed to be handling their situation remarkably well (Edward and Mustang's skirmish notwithstanding) she doubted that they would be particularly keen on reliving the day's events for the benefit of the rest of the legal team.

Soon, the elevator doors opened again, and they made their way to the office. Havoc and Fuery looked up as they entered, but Falman and Breda were nowhere to be seen. Hawkeye assumed that they had stepped out for lunch. The introductions were short and non-descriptive, with each Elric inclining his head when Mustang said his name

"Yo, chief," Havoc called, after introductions were over. "You got a call from some guy named Yoki."

"Yoki?" Mustang asked. "Never heard of him." He turned to Hawkeye for confirmation who shrugged her shoulders.

"Apparently he's some municipal authority from Albany. He called from jail. Sounded pretty hysterical. He's being brought up on charges of corruption and racketeering, and wanted you to represent him."

"Did he do it?" Mustang asked, only half listening.

"Oh definitely," Fuery spoke up. "I looked into it, and he's one hundred percent guilty, no doubt about it."

"But he made a pretty buck," Havoc added.

"So now he's looking to spend some of that money on a defense lawyer," Mustang finished.

"Yep," Havoc answered. "So of course he called the top one in the state."

Mustang shrugged. "Well I already have a case. Give it to the senior partners, they can shove it off on Archer or someone. He lives for cases like that."

Havoc nodded and picked up the phone.

"Well, now that's done, it's time for damage control," Mustang sighed, sitting down at Breda's unoccupied desk, and tuning his attention to the Elrics.

Hawkeye and the two teenagers gathered around the cluster of desks.

"Now," Mustang said, turning to face Edward. "You need to tell me everything you told the detectives after you made the brilliant decision to give up your Fifth Amendment rights."

Edward rolled his eyes at the insult, but Hawkeye was proud to see that he didn't rise to the bait. She made a mental note to hit Mustang again later.

"I just told them the truth. It's not my fault they didn't believe me."

"And what is the truth?"

Edward hesitated, biting his lip and looking around, but eventually sat down and began the story. "I was on my way to school-"

"Were you with him?" Mustang interrupted, turning to Al.

The younger boy shook his head. "Ed goes to Jefferson High and I'm at Roosevelt Middle. Mine starts an hour earlier."

Mustang nodded thoughtfully and motioned for Edward to continue.

"Anyway, I got to the subway and I realized I forgot my MetroCard at home." Ed looked down. "Normally I would've just paid, but I was short a few cents so I decided to go back home and grab it, and be a few minutes late to school."

Mustang leaned back, finger running along the edge of his lips. "So you went home?"

Edward nodded.

"Did you notice anything strange or out of place? Before you entered the apartment of course."

Ed thought about it. "Well Den—the Rockbell's dog—was barking, but I didn't think anything of it. I figured it was just pigeon or something."

"You weren't passed by any strange or suspicious people?"

Edward shook his head. "Nothing weirder than normal New York."

"Okay," Mustang said, coming forward to rest his elbows against the desk in front of him. "Did you hear the gunshot?"

Edward swallowed.

Behind him Al inhaled sharply, and Hawkeye moved a little closer to the boy and discretely grabbed his hand. He looked up at her gratefully.

"No." Ed was looking down at his hands. "No, I didn't hear anything."

Mustang paused a moment, no doubt sensing the tension in the room. Hawkeye tried to catch his eye, but he didn't look at her. "And then you went into the apartment."

Again Ed nodded.

"Did you notice anything about the door, like it had been forced open?"

Edward shook his head. "No, it just looked normal."

Mustang nodded. "And what did you see when you went in?"

Edward wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. Hawkeye glanced down and saw his hands moving furiously in his lap. "She was lying in the middle of the floor. There was blood-" he choked. "There was so much blood."

Havoc reached out and squeezed Ed's shoulder comfortingly, but the teenager didn't react.

"Was she still alive when you walked in?" Mustang asked, voice calm.

Edward didn't respond and Alphonse squeezed Hawkeye's hand as his shoulders racked in silent, dry sobs.

Mustang ignored them. "Edward, I need to know if she still alive when you came in."

"Sir-" Hawkeye started, but Mustang cut her off.

"Edward, look at me."

The teenager pulled his gaze up, the movement slow and stiff like he was trying to move through water.

"Was your mother still alive when you entered the apartment?"

"I-I don't know. Maybe. I dropped my bags," Edward's eyes were glossy, like he was in some sort of trance and had forgotten anyone else was there. He fingers opened, pantomiming the action. "I went up to her, and pulled her head onto my lap. I think she may have been breathing, but I'm not sure."

Mustang nodded. "What happened next?"

"Her eyes were closed, and I remember thinking that maybe she was just asleep. That she had cut herself on something and just passed out. I-I shook her. I thought that if I could just get her to open her eyes… and then I saw the gun. I reached out and picked it up, and that was when the police came in."

"And what-" Mustang began, but Hawkeye interrupted.

"That's enough, sir," she said, fingers gripping Alphonse's hand tightly.

"Hawkeye-"

"That's enough for now." Her voice was hard and left no room for argument.

Mustang sighed. "Yes, well all right." He leaned back in his chair again. "Now we have to come up with a strategy."

"How long do we have?" Havoc asked.

"Olivier said a few days before they bring him up on official charges."

"What do we need before then?" Fuery asked.

Mustang sighed again. "Mostly character testimonials. The police have some good evidence and more than enough of it, but for the most part it's circumstantial. If we want a light bail we need to get people swearing in front of that judge that there's no way in hell Edward could do something like this."

"I'll do it," Al said, stepping forward and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "If it'll help brother's case, I'll do it."

Mustang nodded. "That's a start but we're going to need more and from non-blood relatives."

"The Rockbells are on their way," Hawkeye stated.

"Good. Next, we need to delay child services."

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked.

"Even after they arrest Edward, they're going to have to interview him again and try to get a confession," Mustang explained. "They can't do that unless someone from child protective services is present. We need to see if we can get them to shuffle his case around a bit to buy us some time. Who do we know who works over there?"

"I'll call Rebecca," Hawkeye said. "She's been working with child services for a few months now."

"Rebecca Catalina?" Havoc asked, goofy grin spreading across his face. "Why don't I call her?"

Hawkeye rolled her eyes. "Because we're trying to get her to help us, Havoc, not block our number."

The paralegal pouted, his signature cigarette dangling from his lips.

"And put those things out when you're inside," Hawkeye said, grabbing it and grinding it into a nearby ashtray. "You have cigarette breaks for a reason."

"Aww, c'mon Lieutenant, cut a guy a break!"

"I need to get that police report," Mustang commented thoughtfully, ignoring the mini-skirmish occurring next him.

"You're not exactly the most popular person over there right now, sir," Hawkeye pointed out, turning away from Havoc.

Mustang smirked. "I find that threatening to sue makes people pick up their feet." He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. "Okay, let's reconvene in half an hour and see where we are."

They all nodded, and Fuery and Mustang turned away to begin their work. Havoc started to get up as well, but sat back down after Hawkeye cleared her throat and glanced at the Elrics. Her message was clear: 'you're on babysitting duty.' Havoc sighed but turned to the boys, striking up a quiet conversation as the others made phone calls and shifted through files and information.

* * *

 **A/N I know that's kind of a weird place to end the chapter, and originally chapters 3 and 4 were going to be just one single chapter, but after they passed 5,000 words I decided to split them up. Anyway, that's why this is a little shorter than the norm, the next one will be longer, and hopefully posted on Saturday, but I still have a little to write. I'd love any constructive criticism or hear anything you guys have to say, so please please please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Sorry about the wait blah blah blah and all that.**

 **Okay, a lot going on in this chapter lots of people introduced and the like, so exciting! On another note, it has come to my attention that some people have been a little confused about the world they're in, so allow me to set a few parameters. They're in an entirely human world, no alchemists, homunculus, or magic of any kind (Ed and Mustang just punched me for saying 'magic' instead of science, but whatever). That being said, several of the homunculi will be making appearances, but they are all just humans (albeit evil ones). The world itself is a modern New York, but it's really set in the 80s or 90s, with stuff like personal computers, but no cell phones (at least not the ones we think of today). Anyway, if there are any more questions, feel free to put it in a review or PM me and I'll be happy to answer them!**

 **With all that out of the way, please enjoy chapter 4 of the Price of Life!**

* * *

After a quarter of an hour or so, Breda and Falman reentered the room, carrying with them enough lunch for everyone, Ed and Al included. Hawkeye quickly assigned Falman to do some research on precedent for similar cases, but left Breda to join Havoc on baby-sitting duty.

The two joked back and forth like normal in between bites of lunch, occasionally trying to draw one or both of the Elrics into the conservation. After a few such attempts, Alphonse was a fairly consistent participator in his own reserved way, and even Edward could be expected to say a line or two now and again, though they were mostly short and superficial comments. Not that Havoc could blame them for being detached after what they had been through, not to mention the chief's interrogation (no matter how necessary it was).

They were in the middle of discussing how much the Mets sucked at recruiting players when a woman walked into the office. She was young, mid-twenties at the latest. She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, determined expression on her face. As soon as he saw her, Havoc hit Breda on the shoulder and nodded to her.

"First one of the year," he whispered under his breath. "I told you it was going to be the chick, she has fire in her eyes!"

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself, Havoc. You don't know why she's here," Breda responded, tone equally low. "I'm still betting on the greaser with the broken nose."

"Nah, that guy's all talk!"

"What's going on?" Alphonse whispered.

"Watch this," Havoc said chuckling, "This girl's going to go up to Hawkeye, talk for about thirty seconds and leave looking very disappointed."

Sure enough, the girls' eyes lit up as she caught sight of the other woman. She marched confidently over to her, smirk on her face. The boys watched in fascination as in the course of a few seconds, the girl's face visibly fell as Hawkeye was talking, and eventually she nodded sheepishly and slunk towards the door.

"Awww, damn it," Breda muttered.

"Ha! You owe me twenty bucks!" Havoc said triumphantly.

Breda pulled his wallet out and handed over the money, still grumbling under his breath.

"What the hell just happened?" Ed asked, becoming more than just obligatorily interested in the conversation for the first time.

"It happens every year," Havoc said. "As soon as May rolls around we get a new batch of summer interns, on holiday from all the best law schools. I'm talking Harvard and Yale here."

The Elrics nodded.

"Anyway," Breda continued, taking over from his friend. "These interns all like to think that they're the best lawyer since Clarence Darrow. But, in order to be number one-"

"They have to take down the guy currently holding the title," Edward guessed. "I.e. Mustang."

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!" Havoc said. "Anyway, as a firm full of top notch defense lawyers, F. Bradley's senior partners are very aware of how often office relationships lead to sexual harassment and favoritism, so they have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to fraternization."

"So of course, when interns hear that the famed playboy Roy Mustang has a pretty young blonde working for him…" Breda said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"They assume there's more than just professional relationship," Ed said.

"Bingo!" Havoc exclaimed. "Normally the partners would overlook a flaw as minor as promiscuity in someone as valuable as Mustang, but if they were presented with direct evidence of a forbidden relationship…"

"They'd be forced to fire him."

Havoc nodded. "So they come in here one by one, sniffing around, until they talk to Hawkeye."

"And then realize there's no way she's sleeping with her boss," Alphonse finished.

Both Havoc and Breda started guffawing. "We estimate it takes about fifteen seconds of knowing the Lieutenant for all their dreams to vanish," Breda said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Soon, Al and Ed found that they were laughing too. "Do you think that Ms. Hawkeye knows?" Al asked in between chuckles.

"Definitely," Havoc and Breda said at the same time.

"She totally amps up the coldness whenever any of them come in." Breda said. "Trust me, if the title "Ice Queen" wasn't already claimed by Chief Armstrong, Hawkeye would be a shoe-in."

The four of them erupted into another fit of laughter, which only dissipated after the very woman in question sent them a disapproving glare. With a few last chuckles here and there, they went back to discussing pointless, easy topics this time with Ed and Al as full contributors.

The room fell into a relatively peaceful quiet, which went uninterrupted for a number of minutes, until the door was dramatically thrown open and a tall man entered. He was probably around six feet, with thin glasses, sage green eyes, and permanent sort of beard scruff that gave him the distinct look of a puppy. He raised his arm in an animated greeting, grin plastered across his cheeks. "Roy!" he shouted, stepping into the office.

From his desk by the window Mustang groaned. "What do you want, Maes?" he asked, clearly dreading the answer.

"Only to show you the cutest pictures in the world!" The man bounded across the room (there really was no other word for it) pulling a wad of Polaroids from the pocket of his sport coat.

"I don't have time for this," Mustang grumbled to himself as the photos were shoved under his nose and cooed at by the other man.

"Awww, look at this one! Little Elicia's second birthday!"

"Maes-"

"And here's one with her beautiful mother cutting the cake!"

"I swear to God-"

"And look! Here she is with the present I got her! Isn't she the cutest thing in the world?" The man clutched the pictures to his heart, and even from his vantage point a few feet away, Havoc could make out the tears beginning to form in the man's eyes. "What did I do to deserve two such perfect angels?" he asked dramatically.

"That's Maes Hughes, he's an associate here," Havoc whispered to Ed and Al, who both looked somewhere in between shocked and a little disturbed. "He and the chief went to law school together."

Like a dog catching a scent, as soon as he spoke, Hughes looked up at them. "Havoc!" He called. "You have to see these new pictures of Elicia!"

Havoc groaned and mumbled a few curses under his breath.

Hughes came over to their desks, pictures held firmly in his hand.

"Is there a real reason why you're here, Maes?" Mustang asked from across the room.

Hughes paused, as if trying to remember something. Suddenly (if possible) an even wider grin spread across his face. "Yes!" he said, digging into another pocket. "To show you pictures from Elicia's first trip to the beach!"

Mustang began banging his head against the desk.

"Uh, I think he means a work-related reason, sir," Hawkeye said, stepping into the conversation.

Hughes laughed, walked back towards Mustang's desk, and fell into the open chair across from him. "The senior partners want to see you," he said.

"Damn it," Mustang sighed. He lifted his head up to face his friend. "What for?"

"Something about turning down a wealthy client."

"Yoki," he guessed.

Hughes nodded. "Yep, that was it."

Mustang sighed again. "When do they want to see me?" he asked.

"I got the distinct impression that sooner would be better than later," Hughes said, still smiling.

With a significant amount of grumbling, Mustang stood up. "Hawkeye, I'm heading over to the board room," he said, walking towards the door.

His number one nodded.

Mustang pulled the door open and was about to leave, when he turned back to the room. "And Maes, try not to torture my team too much, okay?"

Hughes lifted a hand in acknowledgement. As soon as the door was shut though, he found the other pictures and began showing them to anyone he could corner. Fuery got the play date with the neighbor, Breda got the rainstorm, and poor Falman was stuck with the dress-up party. After brief introductions to the Elrics, Hughes showed them and Havoc a miscellaneous stack of everything from 'Gracia takes Elicia shopping' to 'Elicia gets a doughnut'.

"Don't you have some other work to be doing, sir?" Hawkeye asked as politely as possible after Hughes had shown her what must have been at lest three separate rolls of film. After he assured her that there was absolutely nothing more important he could be doing with his time, she tried again, this time a little less subtle. "Well, we certainly have a lot of work that has to get done," she said. When he didn't seem to notice, she added, "And soon."

Finally the man seemed to get the hint, and slunk out the office, but not without the promise of bringing in even more pictures the following day.

A quiet peace once again fell over the office, this one just as short-lived as the first, as a tentative knock at the door brought everyone out of their separate reveries. Hawkeye opened it, and saw two unfamiliar figures standing in the hallway. There was a little old woman, with a severe face and large glasses, and behind her stood a girl who looked to be about Ed's age with long blonde hair pulled back in a high pony tail. Her eyes were red and puffy, making it was clear that she had been crying.

"You must be the Rockbells," Hawkeye said, and the two women nodded.

At the name, Edward and Alphonse stood up and looked to the door.

"Please come in." Hawkeye gestured for them to enter the office. "The Elrics are just over there," she said, pointing.

Hawkeye watched as the girl ran over to meet them, capturing Alphonse in a tight hug, the old woman following closely behind. Edward stood a little away, looking down at his feet. It seemed to catch him by surprise when the girl launched herself at him. Hawkeye saw her bury her face in Ed's shoulder, and watched as his arms wrapped around her. She seemed to be whispering something to the teenager, and though Hawkeye couldn't make out the words for the first time since she met him, she saw Ed's eyes shine with the beginnings of tears. She found herself looking away, suddenly feeling as if she was intruding on a private moment of grief.

After a few more seconds of teary hugs and the giving of condolences, Pinako excused herself and made her way back towards Hawkeye, stopping when she reached the woman. "I was wondering if there was a place where I could speak to the boys alone," she said.

"Of course," Hawkeye answered. "You can use Mr. Mustang's personal office," she said, gesturing to a largely unused room by the window.

The old woman nodded, and went to collect the boys. The three of them entered the office, leaving the girl sitting alone on a bench outside the room.

Hawkeye went back to her work, but found that she couldn't concentrate on the papers in front of her. She looked up, catching sight of the girl shifting uncomfortably on the bench. Her head bowed as she tried for the tenth time to read the same sentence. She sighed, and looked up again. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, she stood up and marched briskly across the room, coming to a stop beside the girl.

She hesitated a moment, biting her bottom lip. Finally she spoke. "Do you mind if I sit?"

The girl glanced up, noticing the woman for the first time. She gave a short nod, her head falling to rest against her chest.

Hawkeye sat on the edge of the seat, not wanting to crowd the girl. After a few minutes of sitting in an uncomfortable silence, she asked, "What's your name?"

The girl turned to face her, and Hawkeye saw the tracks of old tears on her cheeks. "Winry." Her voice was quiet, but Hawkeye could still make out the small tremors that shook it.

"I'm Riza," she said.

Winry didn't respond. Her gaze dropped down to her hands which were fisted against her knees.

"It's nice to meet you," Hawkeye tried again.

Silence fell across them again like a shroud, and Hawkeye was about to give up and go back to her work, when Winry asked, "What's going to happen to Ed and Al?" her face still pointed towards the ground.

Hawkeye looked down at the girl in surprise. "Well Alphonse is going to be fine. I talked to your grandmother on the phone, and he's going to stay at your apartment for now."

"And Ed?"

Hawkeye sighed. That was a significantly more complicated question. "We—Mr. Mustang and the rest of us—are going to try our hardest to make sure Edward will be joining you before long."

Winry's fingers tightened. "He didn't do it."

Hawkeye's hand reached out to touch the girl's shoulder comfortingly, but hesitated a few inches away.

"He loved Miss Trisha more than anything, he would never hurt her!"

She opened her mouth, planning to explain that it wasn't that simple, but stopped before she began. "I know," she said simply.

Winry turned to face the woman, surprise written across her features.

Now it was Hawkeye who found she couldn't look the girl in the eye. "I… I know what it's like growing up in neighborhood like yours. I know what you think of lawyers like us—that we defend millionaires and couldn't care less about normal people—but I promise Mr. Mustang isn't like that. I promise that we'll work as hard as we can and that we will win Ed's case and he'll be home before you know it."

With that, Hawkeye stood up and began to walk away.

"Wait, Miss…" Winry trailed off, hand catching the sleeve of Hawkeye's jacket.

The other woman turned. "Please, just call me Riza."

Winry's eyes dropped in embarrassment. "Riza," she said. She paused a moment, fingers still tracing the tight stitching on the hem of Hawkeye's blazer, and her teeth ran along her bottom lip as she seemed to consider whether or not to speak. "Thank you," she said finally, hand falling back to her lap.

Hawkeye nodded in acknowledgment and turned back towards her desk.

* * *

Mustang sauntered into the board room, trying his best ignore the way all its occupants suddenly got very quiet as he entered. Clearly, they had just been discussing him. He looked around at the long table, and the eight or nine older faces around it. F. Bradley was a large law firm with more senior partners than they knew what to with, and it seemed they had all shown up to watch Mustang get his ass handed to him.

"Take a seat, Mr. Mustang," One of them said, gesturing to an open seat on the other side of the table.

Mustang resisted the urge to make some dry comment about the drama of it all, and sat down. "Hughes said you wanted to see me?" he asked, voice clipped with a calculated politeness.

"We-" one of the partners started, but stopped when the man sitting in the center of the table raised his hand. F. Bradley himself. He was older, closer to sixty than fifty, though he still had a strong presence to him: dark black hair just barely tinged with grey combed neatly, a straight back, and broad shoulders that still seemed quite well-muscled despite his age.

"Mr. Mustang," he said, and although the words weren't particularly loud or forceful, something about his voice made you want to stop and listen. It was the voice of a leader. "It's come to our attention that you've turned down the chance to represent a potentially…. lucrative client."

Mustang sat up a little to face the man head on. "I believe it's still within my rights to choose whether or not I take a case," he said carefully.

"Yoki's worth millions!" Another partner spoke up from the end of the table, white beard quivering with passion. "And not only that, he could open the door to more rich clients!"

"Ahh yes, all of his other corrupt buddies," Mustang couldn't resist adding.

The man spluttered.

Again, Bradley held up his hand to silence the room. "You know as well as I do Mr. Mustang that we can't allow our personal feelings cloud our judgment when it comes to clients. The American justice system asserts that everyone has a right to legal counsel, and it is our ethical responsibility to represent them to the best of our ability, no matter their crimes."

Mustang had to grasp the edge of the table to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Who in the world did these so call partners think they were to lecture him about ethics? It was no secret that half the men in the room owned summer homes thanks to people like Yoki. Economics, not the selfless desire to insure justice and equal protection under the law is what drove these men, and all of them knew it. "If you'll notice _sir_ ," he started, unable to keep all of the sarcasm out of his voice. "I simply referred Yoki to one of my esteemed colleagues, I didn't send him to another firm."

"He specifically asked for you, Mr. Mustang," Bradley said. "And despite his fall from grace, Yoki still wields a significant amount of power. Staying on his good side, and keeping this firm there as well, would benefit everyone."

"Archer can handle this case, just as well as I could. Better in fact."

"But he doesn't want Archer, he wants you."

Mustang sighed. It was time to pull out the big guns. "Well, I would've taken Yoki's case," a few of the men snorted, proving just how much they believed that statement, but Mustang continued on, ignoring them. "But I had just accepted another one right before he called."

"So? Work them both," A partner suggested.

Mustang chuckled. "Believe me, this isn't the kind of case you can wrap up with a few hours of paperwork and negotiation."

Across the table, Bradley raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, by all means tell us about this case, Mr. Mustang."

The lawyer hesitated a moment, biting his bottom lip. Now came the tricky part, putting the Elrics' situation into terms the partners would respond to. "It's a murder case," he started carefully. "Some kid wrongfully accused of shooting his mother. It's going to be a big one for the press."

Murmurs erupted through the room, though Bradley seemed unaffected. "And tell me, who is providing the funds for you work?" he asked going for the exact topic the younger man had hoped to steer them away from.

Mustang winced. "I'm doing it pro bono."

"You mean to tell me that you turn down a case that could bring over a million dollars into this firm in order to represent someone for _free_?"

Mustang lounged back in his chair, carefully configuring his face to an expression of indifference, as if he didn't really care what happened wither way. "I'm not some saint, you know that. I wouldn't have taken this case if I didn't think it had potential to be worth just as much as Yoki's." He paused a moment for affect. "If not with money, then with free publicity."

"There are almost 2,000 homicides in New York City every year, tell me, what's so special about this one?" Bradley asked.

"Easy," Mustang answered, self-assured smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "We make it special. People love a good murder, and this story is gory and enticing enough to get anyone to buy a paper. If we handle it right, we could dominate headlines for weeks. Think about it, F. Bradley's name in the paper everyday. That, my friends, is priceless."

Bradley leaned back in his chair. "I must admit, Mustang, I'm intrigued." He thought for a second. "Alright. You have our permission to pursue this case. We'll give Yoki to Archer."

"But-" Another partner started.

"You had better make it worth our while," Bradley said, ignoring the other man's protests. "That's all. You can go."

Mustang nodded, got up, and left the room glad to get away from the hypocrisy of the partners.

* * *

Hawkeye glanced at the clock. It was late, pushing one in the morning, and the offices were just about deserted for the night. Pinako had taken both of the Elrics and Winry back to a hotel room they were renting (none of them particularly wanted to spend the night in the apartment complex where Trisha had been murdered just hours earlier), Breda and Havoc had left to grab a few drinks dragging Falman and Fuery with them. They had invited Mustang and Hawkeye to come along, but for once the former was consumed by work and for the latter, being the last to leave the office was a matter of pride, so they both remained behind.

Since then, Mustang had barely looked up from his desk. Really, it was like the man had two settings; goof off and get nothing done, or allow himself to be completely consumed by a project. The paralegal sighed and stood up, carefully making her way over to Mustang who was currently poring over a few thick law volumes. "Sir," she started. "As nice as it is seeing you actually working for a change, I think it's about time we quit for the night."

Mustang looked up, surprised. "But it's only," he glanced down at his watch. "12:45," he said, and laughed slightly. "Sorry, Hawkeye. I guess I lost track of time."

The woman swallowed her smiled. "I guess you did sir."

Mustang stood up and stretched, joints cracking. "It's just this case."

Hawkeye nodded. "I know what you mean. It's one of the tougher ones we've handled."

"It's more than just that, though," he said, and then paused, seeming unsure of his thoughts. "I mean you were right about the kid—he's innocent—but I'm not sure what to do about it." Mustang collapsed back in his chair, and begun spinning back and forth absently.

Hawkeye perched on the desk, arms crossed against her chest. "You prove it," she said.

He chuckled. "If only it were that easy. Say what you will about the cops, but Olivier runs a tight ship; he's their lead suspect for a reason. I mean, there's a lot of coincidence in his story, he happens to forget his Subway pass and comes home just at the right moment to catch the last few seconds of his mother's life, but not in time to see who did it. Not only that but there's no forced entry and he had the bad luck to pick up the gun." Mustang sighed. "It doesn't look great."

"But you believe him?" It was somewhere between a statement and question, and Mustang could tell from the hint of defensiveness in her tone that her feelings regarding the boy were unchanged.

"Yeah, I do. I don't believe that he has the will to fake the kind of emotions he was showing earlier, but it's not like he let the cops see them." He looked up at Hawkeye then. "Why did you believe him? Earlier, when he was being interrogated by Buccaneer and had half the police force convinced they'd caught a murderer?"

The woman looked off into the distance. "I'm not sure entirely. Chief Armstrong let me watch from the observation room for a few minutes, and I guess I felt bad for him. He was clearly heartbroken."

"Well you seem to be the only one who noticed," Mustang pointed out.

Hawkeye shrugged. "It was just instinctual. He's seems like a good kid, he cared for mom and looks out for his little brother. Maybe a little quick to anger, but he's smart—super smart, I mean you saw," she said.

Mustang nodded slowly. He was. Surprisingly so. Whether or not that was a good thing, however, remained to be seen.

From her place on his desk, Hawkeye chuckled. "I guess that he reminded me of another boy I knew, too smart for his own good with a bit of anger streak, who had the potential to rise above his situation and change the world for the better."

Mustang looked down at his hands.

"I guess I want to make sure that Edward gets the same chance you did, sir."

"Do you think that's we're doing, Hawkeye? Changing the world?"

"Don't you?"

He sighed. "I used to. I mean that was the goal. Become a lawyer, protect the people who need protection, but working here," he said, gesturing to the room around them. "It's easy to forget that. I mean, I just met with the partners and swore up and down that my only interest in Ed's case was the media potential. It makes you wonder what other compromises I've made and will have to make, all in pursuit of good. I guess-" he paused. "I guess I'm just afraid of ending up like them."

Hawkeye considered him for a moment. "I think we have to take it one case at time. Right now let's get Edward off, and afterwards think about the rest."

Mustang sighed and stood up. "I guess you're right, Hawkeye."

She smiled, straightening up as well. "I always am, sir."

"Yes, you are." He chuckled.

"Oh, by the way, I talked to Rebecca. She managed to get herself assigned to case but doesn't know if she'll be able to buy us anymore time. She's coming down tomorrow to meet Edward."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Mustang said. "I have to call Armstrong in the morning."

"Olivier?" Hawkeye asked. "But I thought you already got Miles to fax over the police report."

"No, not the Ice Queen, Alex. The _Times_ will get a hold of this story soon enough and we'll be screwed if we don't get out in front of it." He sighed again. "I really should've called him this afternoon—if they end up labeling Ed a cold-blooded killer instead of an unfortunate teenager we're screwed—but he's just so…"

"Hard to deal with?" Hawkeye supplied, amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Yes!" Mustang groaned. "I mean if I wanted to hear a detailed description of the Armstrong family history for the past four generations I'd go to my local library."

She laughed. "I'll tell you what, sir, if you promise to actually get some sleep when you go home and not just keep on working till it's time to come back, I'll call Maria Ross directly tomorrow, no need to get the editor-in-chief involved at all."

"You know he's just going to show up anyway," Mustang muttered.

"That's the best I can do, sir."

"Okay, fine. Deal," he said, holding out his hand.

"Good." She shook it shortly. Ready to go?" she asked, moving toward the door. "I already called the car service, they're waiting outside."

He nodded and followed her, stopping at the threshold of the door and gazing back at the room. "This is going to be a tough one, Hawkeye, I can feel it."

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye agreed, handed him his coat and ushered him out of the office.

"I think the only way this is going to work is if we find out who really killed Trisha Elric," Mustang said as the two started down the hallway towards the elevator.

Hawkeye sighed. "I was afraid of that."

Mustang stopped suddenly as a thought occurred to him. "Have you found anything out about the father? Ex husband might have a motive."

"As far as I can tell, they were never married." Hawkeye said. "I haven't been able to find any trace of him in the past few years. Just about all I have is his name, Van Hohenheim."

"Hohenheim?" Mustang asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Do you know him?"

"No I don't think so… but the name does sound familiar." He thought about for another moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out tomorrow. Now, let's get some shut eye."

Hawkeye agreed wholeheartedly, and soon the two were off towards the elevators again.

* * *

 **A/N and thus ends the longest chapter I've ever written! Hopefully it wasn't too boring, we're still kind of in set up mode (which I realize is a little ridiculous because we're 10,000 words in). If you feel there needs to be more action, don't worry hopefully that's coming up. Anyway, I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again and to be perfectly honest this is just about as far as I'd gotten in the thinking process when I started writing this, but I'm sure it'll come together. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed and please keep it up!**

 **Also, i'm in kind of a hurry to post this, so it hasn't been super thoroughly checked for mistakes, so if you see any just tell me and I'll fix them!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I know, it's been forever and I'm so sorry about that, but unfortunately I never was the best at consistent updates. Anyway, I don't think there's anything I really need to say so, just enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

Hawkeye sighed as she walked down the sidewalk, approaching the restaurant she and Rebecca had agreed to meet at for lunch. It had been a long morning. With nothing substantial in the police report to go on, she had been sent to interview neighbors and friends of the Elrics to try and get both a better understanding of what had happened the previous morning, as well as of the Elrics in general.

"Riza!" A voice called as she entered the restaurant. It belonged to a pretty woman with shoulder length chestnut-colored hair.

"Rebecca!" Hawkeye shouted back, as she caught sight of her old friend. She hurried over and joined the other woman at a booth.

"How's it going?" Rebecca asked, after giving a Hawkeye a quick hug.

"Pretty good."

"Mustang still running you ragged?" She asked, though she didn't wait for an answer. "Honestly, Riza, I don't know why you put up with that man! You should come up to Albany and stay with me for a few weeks! I'll see to it that you get yourself a real man, no more of this waiting for the boss to notice you stuff-"

"Rebecca!" Hawkeye said, cutting her friend off. "I don't like Mustang!" she said, trying her best to ignore the slight blush rising to her cheeks.

Rebecca stared at the woman across from her with a look that could only be described as pitying. "Of course you don't, honey. That's why you put in twice as much time at work than anyone else and have a non-existent personal life."

"Whether or not I have a 'personal life' is my own choice," Hawkeye pointed out. "It has nothing to do with Mustang. And besides," she added, edge of her lip twitching up in a small smile. "I've seen your taste in men, and I think I'm better off on my own."

Across the way, Rebecca pouted. She was interrupted however, when a waiter came over, and the two ordered lunch.

Once the waiter returned with their food a number of minutes later, Hawkeye decided that they could put off business no longer. "Did you meet Ed?"

"Yes." Rebecca picked up her sandwich. "He's quite a prickly one isn't he?"

Hawkeye couldn't deny that. "What do you think?" she asked. "About the case, I mean."

Rebecca waved her hand absently. "If you say he's innocent, I trust your judgment."

"But what do you think?"

"Frankly, it doesn't matter what I think, I'm not here to decide whether he's guilty or innocent, I'm here to make sure that his interests are protected," Rebecca responded around a mouthful of food.

"What's going to happen once he gets arrested officially?" Hawkeye asked.

"He'll spend a few nights in the juvenile detention center until you can get him out on bail."

 _If we can get him out on bail_ , Hawkeye thought, grimly, taking her own sandwich in hand.

"After that, he'll stay with the Rockbells and his brother. We just finished up the paperwork that gives Pinako temporary custody of the boys."

"And the trial?"

"No doubt the prosecution will attempt to get him tried as an adult, but my job is to make sure that that doesn't happen."

"And what are our chances of that?" Hawkeye asked.

"At this point, I'd say fifty-fifty." Rebecca paused, reaching over and stealing some fries from Hawkeye's plate. "Ed's only fifteen which is good, but with a crime as violent as this one is, it's hard to say for sure."

Hawkeye nodded. It wasn't great, but it also wasn't as bad as it could've been.

"And what about you?" Rebecca asked. "Mustang said that you were talking to the neighbors?"

Hawkeye nodded.

"Well, what did you find out? Anything useful?"

Hawkeye sighed, and put the sandwich back down on her plate. "Not about the murder itself; it seems no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. That or they're unwilling to talk about it. I did get some info about the Elrics, though. For the most part, people seem to agree that Trisha was as close to a saint as you'll find in the world and that Alphonse is a polite, good-hearted young man."

"And Ed?"

"Public opinion is definitely more split when it comes to him. The first few people that I talked to said that he was a hot-headed trouble maker who was constantly creating problems for his mother."

"Well that doesn't seem good," Rebecca said dryly.

"That's what I thought, but then I talked to Izumi Curtis. She lives a few buildings over, but one of the families in the apartments next to the Elrics mentioned that she was acquainted with boys, since she'd taught both of them."

"She's a teacher?"

"Yeah, middle school science. She had both the Elrics, and in addition to that, she and her husband run a little dojo down the street from them, where Edward and Alphonse attended classes for a number of years. She knew Edward pretty well and told me in no uncertain terms that he's a good kid who would never have done what they're accusing him of."

"Is she willing to testify?"

"She practically insisted on it. She gave me all her information and told me to tell her the time and place, and she'd be there."

"Well that's great!"

"Yeah," Hawkeye agreed, picking up her sandwich again. "After I talked to her, more people started supporting Ed. They said that he got into a lot of scrapes, but it was almost always defending kids against bullies and the like."

"Anything serious?"

"There was one incident a lot of people mentioned where Ed punched another resident of the apartment building, a man named Shou Tucker."

"What happened?" Rebecca asked, voice muffled somewhat around another bite of Hawkeye's fries.

"Stories differ," Hawkeye started, reaching for a few fries herself before Rebecca ate all of them. "But the most coherent account I could get was that a few months ago Shou Tucker moved into the Elric's building with his young daughter, Nina. Both Ed and Al got to know the girl, and I'm not quite sure what happened next, but I gather that Ed began to suspect that Tucker was abusing her." Hawkeye sighed again. "After they'd lived there a few weeks, Nina ended up in the hospital. That's when Edward and Tucker got into their altercation."

"Was it bad?"

"Depends on who you ask. Some people said Ed nearly beat him to death, some say it was just one punch."

"God… But no police report was filed?"

"Not that I can tell. Tucker disappeared a few days later, and from what I can gather, no one has any idea where he is now."

"And the little girl?"

Hawkeye looked down. "She died in the hospital. I haven't been able to confirm with the coroner yet, but the neighbors say that the he was unable to definitively prove that abuse was the cause of death."

"Will this hurt Ed's case?"

"Well I can't imagine that it'll help it, but it's certainly not an insurmountable obstacle."

"Thank God for that," Rebecca said, smiling.

Hawkeye considered her friend carefully. Rebecca was a pretty open person who easily bonded and identified with others, but she seemed to have developed an attachment to these boys especially quickly. Hawkeye spared a moment to wonder what is was about the Elric siblings that made people so determined to help them. She thought back to her conversation with Mustang the previous night, and wondered again what had drawn her to them in the first place.

"Well, I'm done," Rebecca said, leaning back into her seat. "Call me later?"

Hawkeye looked down at her half-eaten sandwich and sighed. "Of course." With that, she followed her friend out of the restaurant.

* * *

Mustang barely lifted his head off his desk when Hawkeye entered the office. His prediction the previous night had come true, and at eight o' clock on the dot that morning, Maria Ross, the crime reporter for the _Times_ , her trusty cameraman Denny Brosh, and the editor-in-chief himself, one Alex Louis Armstrong, had shown up at their doorstep.

Of course, Edward had arrived late (and made it abundantly clear when he did show up that he was only there under threat of death from the Rockbells) which forced Mustang to endure the torture that was a forty-five minute history lesson about the Armstrong line. After that, Mustang spent two hours trying to make sure Ed seemed like as little of an asshole as humanely possible. Unfortunately, the teenager seemed intent on doing the exact opposite and was apparently immune to subtle kicks to the shin under the conference table.

Luckily for Mustang however, Maria Ross was nothing if not good at her job. After a while, she actually managed to establish a pretty good rapport with the kid. By the end of the interview, her persistence and genuine interest and concern had him opening up and talking freely about his life and what had happened the previous morning.

Mustang had enjoyed a few minutes of blissful peace before Maria declared that she had enough and, after having Denny snap a few shots of Ed, packed up her stuff, and the two left to write up the article. Left without Armstrong. For the past few hours, Mustang had been listening to the mustachioed muscle-man lament "the tragic history of the Elric brothers" while Ed and the Rockbells (who had arrived somewhere in the middle of the interview) spoke to Rebecca Catalina. Though some logical portion of his brain told him that it was good that Armstrong had so much empathy for his client's plight, a much bigger half was consumed only with wishing he wouldn't do it quite so _loudly_. Finally, after the Rockbells went home and Rebecca had departed to meet Hawkeye for lunch, the man left, assuring Mustang that by the next morning (and perhaps that very evening if Maria typed quickly), New York City would be reading Ed's story in the paper.

Hawkeye looked at him sympathetically, and Mustang couldn't help but envy her morning of talking to neighbors. There were a lot of whackos in New York, and Mustang had no doubt that Hawkeye had encountered some of them, but anything was preferable to his last few hours.

"Find anything good?" he asked her, and Hawkeye quickly recounted the information she had discovered.

Mustang leaned back in his chair, expression contemplative. "Well, we should put some feelers out for this Shou Tucker character, but it would probably be best for all of us if he remains AWOL. I doubt the prosecution will bring up the incident without the actual victim present."

Hawkeye nodded and headed to her desk to make a few phone calls.

"If that's everything, I'm going to go," Ed said, standing up and moving towards the door. Although he had remained silent through Hawkeye's account of the morning, Mustang had noticed his fists tightening at the mention of Tucker.

"Don't even think about it," Mustang said without looking up. "We still need to go over a few things about what's going to happen at the arraignment."

Ed made no motion to sit back down, glaring at the man in front of him, but after a pointed look from Hawkeye, he grudgingly reclaimed his seat. "I don't see the point. The prosecution will say I'm guilty, you'll say I'm not, and the judge will set a bail."

Mustang finally looked up. He sat back in his chair, considering the teenager in front of him. "You're forgetting the part where if the judge sets bail too high you'll spend the trial incarcerated."

Ed shrugged as if the prospect wasn't overly concerning to him and Mustang fought the urge to literally rip out his hair. What had he ever done to deserve this kid as a client? To his eternal gratitude, Hawkeye chose that moment to return from her desk.

"I put some people on Tucker," she said. "But I doubt they'll come up with anything; the police want him for questioning regarding his daughter's death, and if they can't find him, chances are, he's in the wind."

Mustang nodded. "Well that's good for us." He turned back to Ed. "Now, we need to go over your behavior at the arraignment. It'll just be me and you at the table, so you won't have your cute kid brother or little Miss Rockbell to sway the judge with their puppy-dog eyes, which means you'll have to be on your best behavior." Mustang paused. "So pretty much, act nothing like yourself."

Beside him, Hawkeye coughed quietly, clearly a subtle warning that another punch was in order unless he took it down a few notches.

Mustang resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that that would simply increase his paralegal's ire, an outcome he was keen to avoid. "Fine. I simply meant that Ed needs to be polite and respectful."

Hawkeye nodded, small smirk on her face clearly saying "I thought so." Despite her slight smugness, she elected to take over the conversation, knowing that when it came to Mustang and Edward, civility was never long-lasting. "The prosecution is going to give a brief overview of their case, undoubtedly saying that as a troubled teen you're a flight risk and a danger to society."

Ed frowned. "I'm not a-"

And Mustang found himself unable to keep from interrupting. "It doesn't matter whether you are or aren't, it's all about the picture that's painted, and after yesterday the prosecution might as well be Michelangelo."

Hawkeye sighed. "Mr. Mustang will argue that you have a little brother to look after and are a college-track kid who won't risk screwing up his life by running."

"Unfortunately, without some effort on your part to behave like a reasonable human being," Mustang started, and Hawkeye almost groaned, feeling the civility draining out of the conversation. "I might as well be trying to convince the judge that the sky is green."

Edward though, didn't seem overly offended. "The sky is green sometimes, you know," he said thoughtfully. "During really severe weather the light refracted from water molecules in the air can interact with red in the environment and make the sky appear a faint shade of green."

"My Grandfather used to say that a green sky meant a tornado was coming," Hawkeye commented.

Mustang looked at the two people in front of him with a vague sort of amazement. "As interesting as meteorology is, I suggest we get back to more important things."

As it turned our, more important things would have to wait, as just at that moment, the office door was thrust open and a swarm of people stormed inside, converging on the trio currently seated at the cluster of desks.

Through the sudden chaos of people, Mustang caught sight of Bucaneer's towering body and a flash of pale blonde hair that could only belong to one person.

"What's going on?" Mustang shouted, though his words were easily overpowered by the shuffling of bodies. He stood up, but was quickly yanked aside by some faceless officer. Hawkeye too was pulled away from the desks, leaving Ed alone, staring down what must have been half the on-duty cops in all of Manhattan.

"Edward Elric, you're under arrest for the murder of Trisha Elric." Buccaneer said, pushing through the throng of navy-clad lackeys and grabbing the teenager's arm.

Thankfully, Ed seemed too surprised to fight the behemoth of a man and instead allowed himself to pushed against the desk and handcuffed.

"What the hell is going on here?" Mustang shouted again, louder this time, though the words were slightly muffled by the officer blocking him from Ed.

The flash of blonde hair emerged again as the crowd of police officers parted to let Olivier Armstrong through. She moved with her usual confidence and swagger, back straight and lips pursed in a firm line. With a quick motion of her hand, she ordered the officers to release Mustang and Hawkeye. "We're here to arrest Mr. Elric. I thought Buccaneer made that rather clear." She turned to the detective. "Read him his rights."

"You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…" Buccaneer's monotonous drone faded into the background as Mustang approached Olivier, fixing his rumpled jacket as he went.

"You're arresting him, Olivier?" he shouted, gesturing angrily to Buccaneer and scene playing out on the table behind him.

Olivier cast a condescending look in his direction, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed before turning again towards Ed and Buccaneer. "I don't believe I answer to you, Mustang."

Mustang paused, noting something strange in her tone that he wasn't quite able to place.

Hawkeye hurried to his side, undoubtedly concerned that he might try something that would land him in the cell next to Ed.

When Mustang spoke again though, it was clear that he had regained his cool. "You said we had few days."

Olivier turned towards Mustang fully. "I was wrong."

The lawyer was taken aback. For a moment there, it almost sounded as though Olivier Armstrong, the Ice Queen, was unsure. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Orders from above."

He raised an eyebrow. "Above? You're the chief of police."

"Higher than me." Olivier paused, clearly debating whether or not she should reveal more. "Straight from the DA himself."

"Kimblee ordered this?" Now Mustang was downright shocked. Solf J. Kimblee, though by all accounts a ruthlessly effective attorney, rarely got involved with cases personally. "What am I missing about this case?" he asked.

Olivier ignored him. Instead she turned towards her men. "Is the suspect secured, Detective?"

Buccaneer grunted, which apparently translated as "yes," because Olivier motioned for him to be removed from the office.

"Ed, don't say anything, Hawkeye and I'll be right behind you!" Mustang shouted to the teenager.

Ed didn't seem to hear him though, as he had finally broken free from his stupor and was now struggling against the detective's bear-like hold. In a moment though, Buccaneer had maneuvered him out of the room. After a look from Olivier, the two were quickly followed by the rest of the police officers.

Mustang watched them leave, face expressionless. "Wasn't that overkill, Olivier?" he asked. "I mean, he is just a teenager."

Olivier didn't answer. Instead she handed him a piece of paper. "The Arraignment's been set for next week." She turned leave, pausing just as she reached the door. After a fleeting moment where it looked like she might say something, she followed her men out of the office.

"What are we going to do?" Hawkeye asked after the door closed.

"Call Rebecca. Tell her we're meeting him at the station."

"I meant with the case, sir. If Kimblee's prosecuting we might be in trouble."

 _I know,_ Mustang thought. "We'll deal with it," he answered simply. He unfolded the note in his hand and a smile crossed his face as he scanned its contents. "Well at least we've caught some sort of break."

"What?"

He handed her the brief message. "Judge Grumman is presiding."

Hawkeye's eyes snapped up to his, her eyebrows raised. "Grumman? Are you serious?"

Mustang shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "Read the note."

She complied quickly. "Well I guess something had to go right eventually," she said once she had finished.

"Something strange is going on here," Mustang muttered, momentary good luck forgotten. "Why would the DA get involved in a case like this? Why require fifteen police officers to arrest one teenager? Something's wrong." He looked at the woman in front of him. "Olivier knows it too."

Hawkeye nodded. "Something seemed off about her today."

"The Ice Queen senses all is not right. She might be single-minded when it comes to police work but she's not a fool; she can tell when someone is manipulating the system."

"Is that what you think is going on?" Hawkeye asked. "That someone is setting Ed up to fail?"

Mustang sighed. "I don't know." He paused a moment. "It certainly seems like it." With that, Mustang yanked open the door. Before turning into the hallway though, he turned back towards his paralegal. "What was it your Grandfather said green skies predicted?" he asked.

"A tornado," Hawkeye answered, following him to the door.

"How appropriate," Mustang muttered to himself as he stepped into the hallway

* * *

 **A/N There you go! Hopefully it was worth the wait! Don't forget to review/favorite/follow! Thank you guys so much!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I know it's been a few weeks, but really that's pretty good for me! Also this chapter is a monster (almost 7,000 words) and took _forever_ to write. I really should have read it over a few more times for mistakes, but honestly I'm getting pretty sick of looking at it, so I'm just going to post it, errors be damned! As always, sorry for any real-world inconsistencies and what-not, and please enjoy!**

* * *

Ed's eyes traced the ceiling of the room. The flickering fluorescent lights played along the pocks and plastic ribbons running between the tiles, highlighting the slight contours in shadow. The room was a small square of squat painted-cinderblock walls running about ten feet by ten feet. There was a metal toilet in the corner of the room whose tank doubled as a sink. Across from that was a flimsy metal bunkbed frame, the top of which Ed was currently laying on.

He closed his eyes, draping an arm over his face, trying to block out the light. After being dragged out of Mustang's office, he had spent the night in one of the cells at the precinct before being transported to a juvenile detention center a few miles outside the city. Processing had taken a couple of hours and after changing into the loose dark blue jumpsuit that made up the center's uniform and trading his steel-tipped boots for what were essentially rubber slippers, he had been dumped in his room.

Ed had spent the first few minutes of his incarceration banging on the heavy metal door that led to the hallway and shouting as loud as he could. He was smart enough to know that in all likelihood it would have no effect on his circumstances aside from leaving him with a sore hand and a scratchy throat, but he had been _pissed off_. Finally, he had sunk to the floor, head in his hands and dangerously close to tears.

Ed hated feeling weak, but as he leaned against the cold wall of the detention center, he couldn't help it. Life was just so goddamn unfair. Everything that had happened in the past few days, the arrest, his mom—but no, he couldn't start thinking about that. If he did, Ed wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. With this in mind, Ed had wiped his cheeks furiously and had taken a few calming breaths.

Since then, he'd settled into the stiff mattress of the top bunk and begun counting the small dots on the ceiling tiles, anything to keep his mind busy and off certain thoughts. When that means of distraction was exhausted he'd begun listing the elements of the periodic table in his head. Once he'd finished that he went back through and tried to remember the atomic weight of each element. He was trying to recall whether the weight of Uranium was 238.029 or 237.048 when his thoughts were interrupted by the metal squeaking of the door swinging open.

Ed turned his head and watched as someone dressed in the same ill-fitting uniform he was in hopped nimbly from behind the heavy door and entered the room. The boy seemed to be about Ed's age (albeit a number of inches taller, much to Ed's chagrin) and was clearly of East Asian descent with a long angular face and lengthy black hair pulled into a low ponytail at the base of his neck.

He was smiling, a wide expression that encompassed his entire face. He lifted a hand towards Ed as the door swung shut behind him. "Hello," he said, voice light and calm. "I'm Ling Yao."

Ed sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was sitting up, facing the intruder.

The boy—Ling—looked at Ed contemplatively, arms crossed casually across his chest as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. Once it was clear that Ed had no intention of responding, his eyebrows descended into a more cunning visage. "And you're Edward Elric," he said, voice taking on a serious lilt.

Ed's forehead furrowed. "How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm your roommate," Ling said, shrugging his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at Ed's continued silence. "Surely you didn't think you got both beds to yourself, did you?"

Still Ed said nothing, simply continued to glare at the strange boy. Although this was his first time at a juvenile detention center, he understood the system well enough to know that it was unlikely that the administration had informed Ling of his name or anything else for that matter.

Ling seemed to implicitly understand the other boy's suspicions and he smiled once more. "You're quite the celebrity. Front page of the _Times_ this morning."

 _Well, I guess Mustang got his article_ , Ed thought to himself. "I wasn't aware the _Times_ had such avid readers in the juvenile correctional system," he said.

Ling laughed. "Oh you're right about that, most of these guys wouldn't know a newspaper if it smacked them in the face, but you know teenagers; terrible gossips once word gets out that someone famous is going to be staying at our humble abode." His voice was light once more.

"You'd think they'd have better things to do," Ed said, hopping off the bed in a fluid motion.

Ling watched Ed from his place by the door calmly. "Tell me," he said. "Did you really kill your mother?"

Ed stiffened and his fists clenched. He made as if to move towards Ling but stopped himself. _You don't know how long you're going to be here,_ he thought. _Picking a fight with the first person you meet isn't a good idea._ Ed took a long, calming breath, and turned to face Ling fully. "No," he said, looking the other boy straight in the eye.

Again Ling's eyebrow raised as he clearly tried to decide whether or not Ed was lying. After a moment, his face broke once more into a wide grin. "I think we're going to be great friends!" he said jovially, pushing himself off the wall and slapping Ed on the back.

Ed looked at Ling incredulously. "That's it?" he asked.

Ling ignored him however, instead choosing to herd him towards the door. "It's time for lunch," he said. "We better get there soon unless we want to get stuck with mystery meat!"

And a very confused Ed let himself be dragged through the door by his new roommate.

* * *

Mustang pushed through the heavy oak doors that led to the District Attorney's office. A briefcase was clutched in one hand and a copy of that morning's _Times_ in the other. "Kimblee!" he called, stepping into the large, ornate room.

A thin man in a white seersucker suit sitting behind a sizable chestnut desk looked up at his words. "Mustang," he responded coolly, standing to greet the other man. "It's been a while," he added, and Mustang grimaced involuntarily.

The two had overlapped at Harvard by a year, Kimblee graduating the year Mustang had started. As luck would have it, Mustang had taken a few higher level courses his first semester so they had had a solid amount of interaction in school. Even back then Kimblee had embodied the worst the law had to offer (and considering who Mustang worked with, that was saying something). Almost immediately after graduating, the District Attorney's office of New York City had snatched Kimblee up, and much like Mustang, he had risen rapidly through the ranks.

"I wasn't aware we had a meeting," the other man continued, ignoring Mustang's evident displeasure.

"Well, since you blindsided me with Ed's arrest, I thought it only fair to repay the favor," Mustang responded, voice deceptively casual. He carelessly tossed his briefcase onto Kimblee's desk and collapsed in one of the leather armchairs positioned opposite the man.

Kimblee remained standing, knuckles pressed against the wood of the desk, looking distastefully at the papers Mustang's briefcase had pushed to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, lip curling to a sneer, his long hair slipping from its neat tie, giving him the distinct look of a predator about to swallow its prey. "It must have slipped my mind."

"Must have," Mustang agreed amicably, putting his feet up on the desk.

Moving smoothly like a snake, Kimblee stepped around to Mustang's side of the desk and hovered lightly on the edge of the wood, so he was staring down at the other man. "What can I do for you, Mr. Mustang?" he asked pleasantly, lips still curved in a predatory smile.

"Aside from file my complaint about the manner of my client's arrest?" Mustang asked, observing Kimblee carefully for any reaction.

The man gave none, aside from a slight widening of his smile to show his teeth. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Mr. Elric has proven himself to be a very dangerous young man. I didn't want any harm to befall the brave police officers of our city."

"Bullshit," Mustang said calmly, noting with some satisfaction the fractional rise of Kimblee's eyebrows at his directness. "You, me, and Chief Armstrong all know that I would've gotten him to cooperate."

"So you're asking me to put the lives of the police in _your_ hands?" Kimblee arched an eyebrow. "Despite my appreciation of such a bold gambit, Mr. Mustang, you and I are both aware that any judge will see my actions merely as prudence, given the serious nature of the charges brought against your client." He waved a hand dismissively and let out a laugh. "Feel free to lodge all the complaints you wish; you'll just be wasting your own time."

Mustang shrugged. "I'll be wasting yours as well, seeing as you're the one who has to deal with them," he pointed out.

Kimblee didn't look the least bit intimidated. "Ahh," he said, tapping his the side of his nose like they were sharing an inside joke. "But I'm getting paid for my time, Mr. Mustang, you're not."

Mustang shrugged.

"Speaking of which," Kimblee continued. "Since you are working for free, I presume that there is some point to this meeting aside from lodging a complaint you were perfectly aware would come to naught?"

Mustang leaned back in his chair. "No, keep on going," he said once Kimblee had finished. "Your powers of augury really are awe-inspiring."

Kimblee smirked at the sardonic response, clearly enjoying having a verbal sparring partner. "You've come to talk deals," he predicted.

"Oooh," Mustang said. "Close but no cigar."

Kimblee ignored him. "I'm willing to offer your client thirty years, twenty of which must be served, in minimum security."

"Hmmm," Mustang said, stroking his chin and pretending to think about it. "No thanks."

Kimblee's grin widened. "First degree murder," he said, inspecting his nails. "That's the best your client's going to get, and you know it."

"First degree murder?" Mustang asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Kimblee," he said, and tossed the newspaper to the other man's lap. "According to the _Times_ there, Ed is nothing but a victim of bad timing and shoddy police work."

Kimblee unfolded the paper delicately and scanned the headline. After a moment he tossed it aside indifferently. "How silly of me. I seem to have overlooked the classic 'the paper says I didn't do it' defense." He paused licking the edge of his lip. "Besides, I have it on good authority that the _Post_ will publishing an… alternate telling tomorrow morning."

It was as much as Mustang had expected, but still, it was slightly discouraging to see how quickly his invisible enemies could mobilize.

Kimblee watched Mustang in his uncharacteristic silence. "Is that deal starting to look better?"

"No deals." Mustang smiled. "We have the truth on our side."

Kimblee threw back his head and laughed. "The truth?" he asked. "What business does the truth have in a courtroom?" It a took a moment for his reverberating chuckles to die down, but once they did, he spoke again. "Well, you've refused my most generous offer, Mustang. Is that all you wanted?"

"No." Mustang's eyes flashed and his voice had lost any of its jokiness. "I want to know why you took this case."

Kimblee eyed him, seeming to look Mustang up and down before speaking. "I'm the District Attorney. Prosecuting criminals is a tenet of that job, wouldn't you agree?"

Mustang stood up, so he and Kimblee were eye to eye. "Something is going on here, and I plan to find out what," he said, voice assuming a hard tenor that left no room for doubts as to his seriousness.

"I hope that you do," Kimblee said, still sitting casually on the edge of his desk. "I do enjoy a challenge."

Mustang's eyes narrowed at the other man's slight admission. "I would remind you that you're dealing with people's lives here and that an innocent teenager could spend the rest of his life in prison, but I doubt the thought bothers you too much," he said, voice caustic.

Kimblee _tsked_ condescendingly. "Come now, Mustang, so little faith in your own abilities!" He paused a moment, only continuing when it was clear that Mustang did not intend to rise to the bait. "You're right though. We're lawyers; morals do not become us."

Mustang smiled, the first real one of the meeting. Kimblee was a good a speaker, that was undeniable, but it was something that Mustang had been counting on. Kimblee, although powerful in his own right and certainly sadistic, had no real agenda. If he was involved in a relatively small case like this, it was most likely on someone else's behalf. Mustang wasn't sure how the mystery party had gotten Kimblee in their pocket, but, at the end of the day, he was a loose canon. He would pursue the case only as far as it interested him, and nothing interested Solf J. Kimblee more than a challenge. He was liable to let some information slip and set Mustang on the right trail if it meant he got a better fight, and as far as Mustang was concerned, he had just confirmed the conspiracy surrounding the case.

Still smiling, Mustang reached for his briefcase. "Well, I've got an early lunch that I'd hate to miss," he said, turning towards the door.

"Got everything you needed, Mr. Mustang?" Kimblee asked.

Mustang inclined his head curtly. "You've been very… informative."

Kimblee chuckled at that. Just as the other man was about to leave, he called out. "Oh, and Mustang? After what your client did to his mother, you're lucky the state of New York no longer executes minors."

And the last thing Mustang saw before the door swung shut was that ruthless, shark-like smile curling across his lips.

* * *

Hawkeye rapped her fingers impatiently against her desk. She was leaning forward, one hand holding the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to actually pick up the other line. She had been on hold for almost twenty minutes and her neck was getting cramped from the slight angle it was being held at.

"Hello, this is the records office for the NYPD, how may I help you?" a voice asked, and Hawkeye sat up.

"This is Riza Hawkeye, I'm calling from Roy Mustang's office regarding a case," she said. Most officers around the station had heard of Mustang (more in regards to his infamous rivalry with their fearless leader, Olivier Armstrong, than because of his legal accomplishments) but she wasn't sure whether or not his reputation had reached all the way to the records room.

There was a pause on the other line. Finally, "Um, yes. Ms. Hawkeye, what is it that you're looking for?" Apparently it had.

Hawkeye sighed. "I've spent the past hour being leapfrogged from department to department. I'm trying to discover whether or not a certain individual has a police record."

"And what's the name?"

"Van Hohenheim," she said. "H-o-h-e-n-h-e-i-m," she added after a moment.

There was another pause, this time full of static, as the person on the other line shuffled some papers around. "Do you know what years he may have been active?"

Hawkeye swiveled in her chair, considering. In all honesty, she had no idea what the answer to that question might be. She had spent the morning trying to track down any information regarding the enigma that was the Elric patriarch, and so far she hadn't found anything. There were probably better things she could be doing with her time, but she kept thinking back to the conversation with Mustang where he said that he recognized the name. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that the name sounded familiar to her as well, but she couldn't quite place it.

Although it most likely wasn't relevant to Ed's case, she found she couldn't stop herself. Something—a hunch, a gut feeling—was pulling her towards the mysterious figure. That pull had only gotten stronger when she had been unable to track down any proof whatsoever that the man actually existed. Trisha's name was on the apartment lease, she couldn't find any employment records for him whatsoever, and he seemed never to have gotten a New York driver's license or ID card. Even on Ed and Al's birth certificates the line for father was left blank. There was absolutely no official record of him living in New York, but through interviewing both the Elric brothers and Pinako, she knew that he spent over five years in the city. It made no sense; living without leaving an official trace was almost impossible. In a last ditch attempt she had called the police station. It was a long shot, but if Van Hohenheim had ever been arrested in New York City, it should be on record with the NYPD. "Anytime in the last thirty years," Hawkeye finally answered, hoping the search parameters weren't too vague.

"Give me a second," was the reply.

Once again Hawkeye was subjected the bland hold music, and soon she found herself once again drumming her desk impatiently. This time however, she didn't have to wait long. Not even five minutes had passed before she heard the telltale click of someone picking up the other line.

"Ms. Hawkeye?" The person sounded a little out of breath, certainly more flustered than when they had spoken a moment before.

"Yes," Hawkeye said uncertainly.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"What?" That was most definitely not what she had been expecting. "Why not?"

"I'm sorry," was the only response.

"Mr. Mustang needs this information for a case he's working. As an attorney he's entitled to—"

"You're welcome to speak to my supervisor, but he'll tell you the same thing I did," the voice interrupted.

Hawkeye paused, chewing her bottom lip as she silently mulled over her options. Finally she sighed. "No, that won't be necessary."

There was an audible sigh of relief from the other line, and despite herself Hawkeye had to bite back a smile, knowing then that Mustang's reputation had most assuredly reached the record room. "Goodbye, Ms. Hawkeye," the person said.

"Bye," she responded curtly. "You've been very helpful. Thank you." There was a click as the call disconnected. Just as Hawkeye was placing the phone back in its cradle, the door to the office opened.

"Where is everyone?" asked a surprised Maes Hughes as he entered the room.

"Falman and Breda are trying to find that Tucker guy, Fuery's eating lunch, Mustang's ambushing Kimblee, and Havoc's out annoying Rebecca," she answered without missing a beat.

Hughes ambled across the room and took a seat at Havoc's empty desk, turning to face Hawkeye. "Huh. I was hoping to talk to Roy," he said.

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. "Anything important?" Before he could answer she put up a hand to stop him, "No, let me rephrase that. Anything important in a strictly professional sense?"

Hughes pouted, but finally admitted, "No."

She smiled. "I thought so." she turned back to her desk, intent on getting some work done, but as luck would have it, Hughes discovered a bouncy ball in one of Havoc's desk drawers and began playing with, throwing it into the air and catching it again.

"What are you doing?" he asked after a moment.

She sighed, but was exceedingly cognizant of the fact that until she answered, no work would be getting done. "I've been trying to find out about Ed and Al's dad, but I haven't been having much luck. I just got off the phone with the police station to see if he had a record."

"Dead end?" Hughes guessed.

"Maybe," she said. "The person revealed more than they meant to though."

"Really?"

Hawkeye nodded "They said that they were unable to tell me anything, which means that he _is_ in their records, and not only that but the file-"

"Is still open," Hughes finished, grin beginning to spread across his face. "Very clever, Ms. Hawkeye! I can see why Mustang keeps you around! Well that and your pretty face," he added, winking at her.

She rolled her eyes. What was it with everyone lately? "Anyway," she said, exaggerating the word, trying to get him back on track. "It isn't much to go on, just that at some point in the past thirty years he was on the NYPD's radar, but it's better than nothing. At least I can be sure the guy exists now."

Hughes leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. "If you need sealed police records I might be able to help with that."

She looked up at him, eyebrows rising in surprise. "How?"

He grinned again. "I know someone."

* * *

Ed watched as Ling (having swiped a ladle when the lunch attendant's back was turned) scooped his tray high with food.

"Now, the chicken here's good," he was saying. "But don't go near the meat loaf if your life depends on it."

Ed nodded, not really listening.

"They only feed us three times a day, so it's all about getting food that you can sneak back to the room and eat later." Ling had replaced the ladle and was watching the lunch staff for his next opening. Sure enough, when one server turned around to replace a tray of creamed corn, Ling reached over the plexiglass counter and snatched two more rolls and stuffed them into his pockets before the man had even gotten his hands around the new tray.

Ed raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "You can't possibly eat all that," he said, gesturing to Ling's now swaying mountain of food.

As if in response, Ling's stomach let out a loud growl. The other boy smiled and clapped Ed on the shoulder. "You've got a lot learn, Ed!"

Finally seeming satisfied that he had enough to eat, Ling steered the two to a table by the door. Since Ling had taken so long assembling his meal, the rest of the cafeteria was pretty full of navy-clad teenage boys making a raucous.

One group in particular seemed to be reveling in their ability to be loud, all-around nuisances. There was five of them, seated at a table in the center of the room, laughing back and forth and having a general good time. Two of them were big guys, another two were smaller, but it was the fifth one who caught Ed's eye. Reclining at the head of the table, there was something about his slim build and lazy attitude that seemed to scream 'leader'.

Ling saw where Ed was looking. "That's Greed," he said softly, as if wary that the now-named boy would hear him, even from across the room.

"Greed?" Ed asked, unable to keep the derision from his voice.

"I wouldn't laugh quite yet, Ed," Ling said, taking a giant bite of his lunch. "He and his little posse run things around here. Word is that on the outside he has connections with some very bad people. Full on gangbangers. Supposedly he picked up his nickname from them." Ling paused. "I'm not sure what it means, but it can't be good."

Just looking at Greed, Ed could believe it. His hair was slicked back and he was sporting a pair of sunglasses that Ed was sure were contraband.

"He was here the last time I took a trip 'round the correctional way, and that was almost a year ago," Ling continued. "He and I have a sort of agreement, but you should steer clear of him if you can manage it."

"This isn't your first time?" Ed wasn't sure why that piece of information was surprising to him. Ling certainly had the knowledge of someone who had been around the block a few times, but something about his lighthearted spirit seemed at odds with multiple trips to juvie.

"This is my fourth time. Second in this facility." Ling shrugged. "I stay in for a week or two and then my dad bails me out."

"What did you do?" Ed asked.

Ling looked up from his meal, eyes slightly narrowed. "Don't you know you're not supposed to ask that?"

Ed shrugged. "You know why I'm here. It's only fair."

Ling laughed. "Well unlike you, I'm making no claims of innocence." There was a pause. "I'm a thief," he admitted after a moment.

"That's it?" Ed asked. He had rather been expecting something slightly more impressive. Despite his unnatural focus on food, Ling was a pretty intelligent guy.

"Well I'm a very good thief if it helps at all," he said.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "You've been arrested four times," he pointed out.

"More than that actually," Ling said, chuckling. "I've only made it to the detention center four times."

"Well there you go."

"Sure I've been arrested," Ling continued, glaring at Ed. "But I've never been convicted of anything. My innate ability to leave no evidence sees to that." He paused. "Well, and my father's lawyers."

"So you're rich." It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

Ling laughed again. "Yes, I suppose that's one way of putting it. Ridiculously wealthy might be a slightly more apt term, though."

Ed frowned. Ling certainly didn't seem like one of those rich jerks who thought they could do whatever they wanted because they happened to be born into a family who had an entire battalion of servants and more sports cars than they could count. "Why steal, then?"

Ling smiled, as though he had been expecting that question. "My father is a very shrewd business man, as was his father before him. Both of them made millions in very shady enterprises that I'm sure the white collar crime department of the FBI would be very interested in learning the details of. They were both greedy sons of bitches who took what they wanted." He shrugged. "I'm following in my family's legacy, I'm just more up front about it."

It was the classic explanation of a self-righteous teenager, and Ed wasn't buying it. "So what, you're serving your debt to society on your family's behalf?" Ling didn't seem the martyr type.

"Of course not, that would be ridiculous," he said. "Besides its going to take a lot more than a few months in juvie to wipe my family's slate clean." He sighed. "My father is not a good man."

"And this is your way of getting back at him?" It didn't seem like a good reason to mortgage his future, but then again, Ed wasn't really one to talk. Even before this whole fiasco, he wasn't exactly known for his ability to stay out of trouble or his lack of father issues.

Ling laughed. "Something like that," he said.

Ed grinned back, deciding that despite his criminal tendencies and the shaky reasoning on which they were acted on, Ling was a pretty good guy.

"So how's your brother holding up with all this?" Ling asked.

Ed's eyes snapped to Ling's. "What?"

Ling rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Elric. It was in the article."

Ed relaxed. "It's been a few days since I spoke to him," he said honestly.

"That's always the toughest part of this," Ling commented. "In a day in two they should let you call him. Are you going to eat that?"

Ed sighed and pushed his tray over to the other boy who quickly gobbled up all the leftover food. Once Ling had finally filled his bottomless-pit of a stomach (or, as was more likely, simply exhausted his supply of food) the two picked up their dirty trays and walked them over to the busing station. They had barely made it four steps though, when a voice stopped them.

"Edward Elric." Though not particularly loud or threatening, the voice had a lot of stopping power, and as soon as it was heard, the cafeteria froze, Ed and Ling included.

Ed turned slowly and was unsurprised to see that it was Greed who had spoken.

The other teenager was leaning back in his chair, hands tucked casually behind his head as he appraised Ed like a specimen on display in a zoo.

"Yes." Ed refused to intimidated and met the boy's gaze with a glower of his own.

Greed flipped up his sunglasses, mildly surprised by the lack of a reaction in the other boy.

An unnatural quiet had fallen over the cafeteria and Ed could feel a pit of dread unfurling in his stomach. Wherever this conversation was going, he had no doubt it was somewhere he did not want to be. But he would be damned if he backed down, so he squared his shoulders, crossed his arms and faced Greed head-on.

Greed hopped up nimbly and walked towards Ed in long, cool strides that demanded attention. "I read about you in the paper this morning," he said, sneer crossing his face.

Ed snorted. "You and half the city. What's your point?"

"Ed," Ling said warningly, pulling lightly at Ed's sleeve.

Ed yanked it from the other boy's grasp.

Greed watched the little exchange with mild amusement. "I would listen to your friend, Elric. You should show your betters some respect."

"Thanks for the tip. If I come across any I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

Greed threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, a tough guy."

"Nope, only an honest one." Ed would be lying if he said he wasn't having fun. Every instinct in his body was telling him that he should heed Ling and proceed with caution, but considering his past seventy-two hours, he was overdo to blow off some steam, even if that meant smart mouthing a well-connected juvenile delinquent.

Greed continued forward, hesitating a few feet away and began circling Ed slowly.

Ed and every casual viewer of animal planet knew exactly what that meant. _So much for not fighting,_ Ed thought to himself as he swiveled, intent on keeping Greed in his sights.

"Such a shame about your mother," Greed taunted.

Despite himself, Ed tensed up, ready to swing a fist around and punch the smug bastard in the face.

"I suppose you can't blame her for the way her son turned out," Greed paused. "Then again, rotten stock breeds rotten pups."

Some small part of his brain that wasn't occupied with seething rage and deciding how best to disembowel Greed, warned Ed that the other boy was baiting him, trying to provoke a response. Needless to say, it was quite quickly and effectively drowned out.

"I guess it's just a matter of time before little bro blows his gasket and ends up in the cell next to yours." The rest of Greed's gang had joined him, forming a loose ring around Ed and Ling (who still stood staunchly by Ed's side). "Let's see," Greed said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "No dad, no mom, a delinquent older brother. I give it a month."

And Ed had had enough. With a inarticulate cry, he ran forward and punched Greed in the jaw, the force of the hit knocking the other boy's sunglasses clean off his face.

Greed stumbled back a few feet and sunk to one knee, but didn't fall. The gang behind him stepped froward but he stopped them as he held up a hand. Using his other hand to lightly massage his jaw, Greed carefully stood back up. Amazingly, he was laughing. "You've got quite a right hook there, Elric," he said. "But don't think I'm going to let you get another one in for free."

Ed watched, muscles tensed, as Greed calmly turned away and reached down to pick up his glasses from where they'd fallen. He brushed them off, and inspected them to insure that they hadn't broke. Once he seemed satisfied with their condition, he handed them to one of his lackeys. "Hold these for me, will you, Roa?" The message was clear: this was between him and Ed; his gang was to stay out of it. Greed turned back towards Ed, and glanced meaningfully at Ling.

"It's alright, Ling, I've got this," Ed said, his eyes never leaving Greed's.

Ling nodded. "Just don't get yourself killed," he said softly before stepping back and joining the mob of boys who had quickly gathered around them in the hopes of getting better seats to the imminent fight.

Greed smiled. "Now that it's just the two of us…"And that was all the break Ed got before Greed came flying at him.

It was all Ed could do to avoid the other boy's fists. With a quick somersault to the left, he managed to avoid the brunt force of the assault, but as he untucked and swung to his feet, He felt a sharp pain as one of Greed's shoes connected with his knee. Thrown off balance, he again hit the floor. Luckily, he hadn't fallen far, so was able to quickly roll out of the way of Greed's next attack. Finally making it back to his feet, panting slightly and trying not to put weight on his injured leg, he observed Greed, a few feet away looking perfectly collected.

Greed grinned. "Starting to realize you bit off more than you can chew huh, Elric?"

Ed ground his teeth together. It was true that he may have underestimated Greed's fighting skill, but Greed had most assuredly underestimated his as well. With ten years of training with Izumi Curtis at the dojo under his belt, Ed was a force to be reckoned with, something he had every intention of showing the smirking teenager across from him. With another yell he rushed forward again, but at the last moment changed course, ducking under the arm Greed had stretched out to block the punch he had been expecting, and jabbed the other boy in the ribs with the heel of his palm.

This time, it was Ed who spun cooly away, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips at the sight of Greed bent double, a hand pressed to his side. "Oh, I'm sure I can handle you."

Greed stood back up, and for the first time, Ed saw true anger in his eyes. Without pausing to respond to Ed's taunt, he attacked again.

Ed hopped out of the way, but Greed turned just as quickly, managing to change the direction of his attack with alarming efficiency. Ed tried to block, but another shock of pain hit him as Greed's fist clipped his shoulder and sent him reeling backwards. Stumbling a bit but managing to keep his balance, Ed could feel the bruise already forming where Greed's hit had landed. _Dammit!_ Ed thought, as he realized it didn't matter how good of a fighter he was. Greed had half a foot on him and at least fifty pounds. If he landed one of his punches, Ed would be out. With this thought in mind, he switched strategies, choosing to duck and avoid Greed's barrage of attacks.

Vaguely, Ed heard screams of encouragement coming from the mob of teenage boys surrounding them, though the specifics of what they were yelling were lost on him. Ed moved as much as their tight circle would allow, sweat dripping from his face. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, and he had no delusions that the sharp jabs and hits that he was managing to land in between Greed's attacks would be enough to bring the other boy down. It was time to end this.

The next time Greed's arm arched towards Ed, he deftly slipped underneath it and ran to the other side of the circle. Without pausing, he turned, and seeing that the other boy was already barreling after him, he planted one foot into the ground and used it to propel himself into a powerful roundhouse kick.

With almost inhuman speed, Greed brought both his forearms up to block Ed's foot. The resulting connection was enough to knock both boys off their feet. Just as Ed was struggling back up, a couple of guards pushed their way through the throng of bodies and stepped between the two boys.

"That's enough!" One of them shouted, glaring at Greed.

Greed smirked and held up both his hands, moving away from where Ed still lay on the ground.

The other turned towards Ed, and pressed a knee into his chest. "Stay down, boy," he muttered.

"Well, Ed, I guess we'll just have to finish this later," Greed said, and winked at the other boy.

* * *

"So Mustang has agreed to represent the little whelp?" A woman asked. Her voice was low and sultry, something about it oddly compelling. She inspected her nails, as if the answer to her question wasn't interesting enough to hold her undivided attention. "Father isn't going to be happy about this."

From his place across from her, Kimblee chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it. There's only so much a good lawyer can do with the kind of evidence we have."

The woman looked up, her eyes narrowed into slits. "This was supposed to be a simple matter. it has gotten completely out of hand."

Kimblee shrugged. "That's hardly my fault. I'm not the one who decided to frame the boy."

The woman didn't answer for a moment, instead she pulled on a pair of black, elbow-length gloves. "Our intention was only to kill the woman. The rest was a mistake."

"A convenient mistake," Kimblee pointed out. "The boy practically incriminated himself, who could ask for a better patsy? Not to mention that it heightens the vengeance you wanted."

"You were supposed to sweep the case quietly under the rug, Kimblee," the woman said. "Is this what you call quiet?" Her voice never lost its even tone as she pointed to the newspaper on the table in front of them.

Kimblee's eyes flashed. "I don't answer to you, Lust or your Father!" The man paused and took a breath, seeming to get himself back under control. "Besides, I'm handling it."

"Now, now, let's behave," a voice said from the head of the table. "Obstacles have arisen, it's our duty to remove them."

Lust looked over her shoulder at the voice and scoffed. "You're not blameless, in this, Wrath. You could've stopped Mustang from taking the case."

The man stepped forward into the light, revealing the wrinkled yet dignified face of F. Bradley. "And I would've if I thought it would help. We can't be drawing attention to ourselves now."

"It's a little late for that," Lust said.

"Not at all," The tips of Bradley's mustache twitched upwards and the laugh lines around his eyes became more prominent as he smiled. "We simply need to make sure that young Mr. Elric is convicted."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Kimblee responded arrogantly.

"Don't be so sure," Bradley said, eyes opening menacingly. "I hear Judge Grumman has a soft spot for Mustang."

Kimblee shrugged again. "Doesn't matter. The old bastard isn't about to let personal feelings influence his judgements, he's too shrewd for that. Besides, everyone knows he's hard on crime."

"I wouldn't be too sure," Lust said, then sighed. "But I have taken matters into my own hands. You should have an easier time at the arraignment on Tuesday."

"What have you done?" Bradley asked, eyes narrowed.

Lust waved a gloved hand flippantly. "Nothing much. Just reconnected with an old friend who happens to find himself in the same place as Elric."

Bradley's eyes lit with understanding. "And how is Greed?"

"As charming as ever." Lust shrugged. "But easy enough to get along with if you have what he wants."

"And what might that be?"

Lust plucked at her gloves. "Freedom. For himself and his little band of misfits."

"Well then," Kimblee started. "I suppose that's all we can do until Tuesday." He pushed away from the table, standing up.

"Kimblee," Lust called as he was leaving. "You better make sure it goes well."

He smirked. "Oh I will."

* * *

 **A/N Finally, we get some action! Plus we meet Kimblee and Ling both whom are ridiculously fun to write for! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/favorite/followed, please keep them coming they're that inspires me!**

 **Anyway, it seems like the story is really starting to take off (finally) and I hope you enjoyed it and it wasn't too boring or whatever!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N And we've got another long-y! I know its been a couple of months, and I'm soooo sorry but since I just started college, I think I get a little bit of a pass on this one, because I've been suuuuuuuuper busy, what with moving across the country and whatnot (as it is I'm putting off a shit-ton of assigned reading to edit and post this... sigh... the life of a college student). Anyway, I'm not going to make any promises to be more consistent in the future because we'd all know that I was lying. Thank you to everyone who hasn't abandoned this story despite my awfullness and its slow-goingness. I love you all, and I really hope that you like this chapter!**

* * *

Mustang wanted to punch someone. The feeling wasn't entirely alien to him, as a kid who had worked his way through law school he had run into his fair share of annoyances and obstacles, but Edward Elric was a force unto himself. Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell me again what in the world possessed you to pick a fight a few days before your arraignment?" he managed to ask through gritted teeth.

Beside him, Ed rolled his eyes. Though it had been almost a week since the fight, slight bruising on the teenager's cheek, right below his eye was still evident, marring his expression. "For the fifteenth time, I was baited!"

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?" Mustang asked, ignoring Ed. "Is that it? Am I standing in the way of your dreams of getting paid ten cents an hour to make license plates and shanking someone over whose turn it is to have the remote to the rec room television?"

Ed's hands jerked in irritation, causing the handcuffs that secured his wrists to jingle menacingly. "Yeah that's it, you've found me out."

"It's the only possible explanation I can think of!" Mustang shouted.

Ed's jaw tightened. "He was insulting my family. What was I supposed to do?"

"Walk away! Do you have any idea how this will look for the judge?"

"I don't care." He glared at Mustang.

"Clearly!" Mustang took a breath, trying to push his anger away. "There's security footage of it, Ed," he managed tightly. "No sound. It doesn't matter what he said; all anyone's going to see is you punching that kid in the face."

Ed grunted and looked down. Although his brow was still furrowed in anger, Mustang thought he caught a hint of contrition in his expression. "Now what?" he finally asked.

Mustang sighed, and glanced at the door a few feet away. On the other side was a court room waiting for them, complete with Solf J. Kimblee and a judge ready to make certain Ed never saw this side of a prison cell ever again. "We go in there and tell the truth."

Ed looked up at the older man. "What, that's it?"

Mustang gritted his teeth. "Well unless you have a better suggestion."

"You're the lawyer," Ed said shrugging. "Isn't this your area of expertise?"

"It's time to go in."

Mustang and Ed both looked up at the man who had spoken. His back was turned away from them, affording them some manner of privacy, a consideration Mustang was grateful for, considering the man was Ed's police escort. His back was straight and he had his arms crossed professionally behind his back, his curious white hair pulled into a high ponytail. Officer Miles was a good police man, though since he did function as Chief Armstrong's right hand man, it was slightly curious that he had been assigned courtroom-prisoner-watch. There was no doubt in Mustang's mind that it was just further proof that the Ice Queen thought something wasn't quite right about the whole situation.

"Of course," Mustang said, inclining his head slightly towards the other man. He stood up, and seeing that Ed was struggling somewhat with the handcuffs that were attached by a thin chain to shackles around his ankles, attempted to help him, though Ed waved the offer off with the huffy indignation of a teenager too proud for his good.

Once all parties were standing, Miles ushered the two through the doors and into the courtroom within.

* * *

As Ed entered the room, he caught sight of the bench against the opposite wall and made brief eye contact with the man sitting there. Judge Grumman was older, perhaps in his sixties or so, bald, with a ring of grey hair lining the sides of his head. He had an impressive mustache that stretched across his face, culminating in pointed tips a few inches past his cheeks. The man nodded his head in acknowledgment of Ed.

Officer Miles led Ed to a podium in the center of the room, Mustang joining them at an adjoining table where Ms. Hawkeye already sat waiting. On the other side of the podium, a tall spindly man sat with long black hair. Ed presumed that that was the prosecutor Mustang and the others seemed so concerned about.

Turning around, Ed could see the Rockbells as well as Al watching anxiously from the gallery. He quickly looked away, hoping that none of them had caught sight of the bruise on his cheek.

"Let's get straight to it then," Judge Grumman said good-naturedly. "Mr. Elric, you have been accused of murder in the first degree. How do you plead?"

Ed glanced at Mustang, who nodded. The teenager straightened his shoulders and met the judge's eye. "Not guilty," he said confidently.

"Alrighty then." The judge shuffled a few papers around on the desk in front of him before looking up again. "Mr. Kimblee, what do you have?"

Kimblee stood up smoothly, licking his lips before he began. "The state of New York considers Mr. Elric both a flight risk and a danger to the community. We therefore ask that he be remanded to a secure facility until-"

"That's ridiculous," Mustang interrupted. "Mr. Elric is fifteen with no resources to speak of, his only known family is a fourteen year old brother he's not about to abandon, and he's never even left the state! Where is he going to go? How is he going to get there?"

Kimblee smirked and the slight action sent chills down Ed's spine. "Mr. Elric is a resourceful young man and the state has no doubt that, if given the chance to go free, he will abuse the trust of this court."

"Based on what evidence?" Mustang asked, and Ed could hear the beginnings of emotion coloring his tone. "According to the prosecution my client shot his mother for no reason in broad daylight and lingered at the scene until police arrived. What about that says criminal mastermind, exactly?"

Ed's hands tightened involuntarily at the mention of his mother. He looked staunchly ahead, focusing on a knot of wood marring the judge's desk. The metal cuffs dug into his wrists, and he tried his hardest to focus on the pain, blocking out everything else happening around him. _It's only going to get worse from here._

"Is that a confession, Mustang?" Kimblee asked snidely from Ed's left.

 _Don't react,_ Ed thought to himself in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mustang's. His grip tightened around his hand. _Hydrogen,_ he began reciting mentally. _Helium, Lithium, Beryllium…_

Mustang spared a glare at the other attorney before again locking eyes with the judge. "I'm just trying to point out that the prosecution's characterization of my client is inconsistent, rashly formed, and completely lacks any sort of basis on factual evidence."

 _…Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen…_

"He was found at the crime scene minutes after shots were heard when he was supposed to be attending school ten blocks away, drenched in his mother's blood, and holding the literally still-smoking gun that ended her life." Kimblee turned cooly towards Mustang. "Those are facts, are they not?"

 _…Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon…_ He would not react. He would not react. Ed kept his eyes locked on the knot of wood, afraid that if he turned away for a moment, he would punch something. Or Break down. Or both.

"Let's keep it civil, gentlemen," Grumman said, in the half-hearted tone one uses to scold children.

"I apologize, your honor," Kimblee said, straightening his coat and turning back to the judge. "Aside from the crime itself, the state has acquired testimony that shows Mr. Elric has a history of violence."

… _Sodium, Magnesium…_

"With all due respect, your honor," Mustang started. "Mr. Elric is a fifteen year old boy. Sure he's gotten into a few fights, but he gets straight As, looks out for his little brother, and tutors students in the library after school. He's a good kid."

"Not according to the state." Kimblee's smirk widened, and Ed knew exactly what he was about to bring up. "Your honor, Mr. Elric hadn't even been in the juvenile detention center for twenty-four hours before he got into a physical altercation with one of the other boys who had to be hospitalized for a fractured jaw. Video surveillance shows Mr. Elric throwing the first punch with no provocation."

"No physical provocation, that is." Mustang countered immediately.

Kimblee chuckled. "Well since there's no audio on the tape, I guess we'll never really know the answer to that, will we, counselor?"

Ed lost track of what element he was on and his eyes flashed to Kimblee's smug form. _They planned this_ , he realized suddenly, certain as soon as he thought it that he was right. Greed had been working for them, it was why he had immediately singled Ed out. Why he had started something but made sure Ed made the first move. _Who are they?_ He wondered briefly, before the being drawn back to courtroom by the sound of a banging gavel.

"Mr. Mustang, I will remind you to keep a civil tongue when you're in my courtroom!" Grumman said, though he seemed more amused than angry. Mustang, Ed gathered, had made some disparaging comment about the opposing counsel's cognitive ability.

"As I was saying," Kimblee said, glaring at Mustang who was wearing a self-satisfied smirk. "Given these incidents and the violent nature of his crime, the state believes that if released, Mr. Elric will pose a serious threat to those around him. Anyone who can do what he did to his own mother is clearly devoid of any conscious and is therefore a menace to peaceful society."

Screw the periodic table, Ed opened his mouth to give Kimblee a piece of his mind, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked down and saw Ms. Hawkeye's slender fingers resting lightly on his bicep. The paralegal was still looking straight ahead, observing the proceedings of the arraignment with an attentive, if impassive expression. Despite that, her fingers squeezed his arm lightly. _It'll be alright,_ the touch seemed to say. _Don't do anything stupid. Let Mustang handle it._ Ed closed his mouth, surprisingly affected by the small gesture.

"Alright, I think you've both made your points," Grumman said, cutting off Mustang's snarky response. The judge flipped through a few pages on his desk. "I see that Mr. Kimblee has requested Mr. Elric's case be tried in an adult criminal court as well."

"Yes," Kimblee responded. "I believe the seriousness of the charges brought against the defendant as well as his age make-"

"His age?" Mustang interrupted. "You honor, my client is fifteen!"

"Well within the state's limits for minors to be tried as adults," the other lawyer pointed out smoothly.

Grumman frowned. "I'm afraid he's right." The judge sighed. "I can appreciate your arguments, Mr. Mustang, but in this case I must agree with Mr. Kimblee." The old man's eyes drifted around the courtroom, passing over Ed, and seemed to linger on Mustang a moment. "Mr. Elric's trial will proceed in adult criminal court." He paused. "I will, however, deny the state's request for remand. Bail will be set at two hundred thousand dollars, to be paid in cash or bond."

"No!" The voice came from the gallery, and Ed turned to see Winry on her feet, hands gripping the bar that separated her from the proceedings tightly, her knuckles white with effort. Beside her, Al and Pinako seemed just as surprised by her outburst as the rest of the court. Pinako stood up, and (standing on her tiptoes) wrapped an arm her granddaughter. Ed saw her lips moving, though the words she spoke were too soft for him to hear.

Winry, however, would not be calmed. She shook off her grandmother's hand and locked eyes with the judge. "Mr. Grumman, Ed didn't do anything," she said, voice thick with emotion, but still strong and unwavering, tone daring anyone to contradict her.

"Young lady, I am sorry you have been upset, but you will not interrupt the proceedings of this court," Grumman's own tone was gentle and surprisingly paternal.

But if Pianko wasn't up to the task of comforting her to silence, Grumman certainly wasn't. "This is all a mistake!" Winry continued, regardless of the warning.

Grumman sighed, but motioned for the bailiff beside him to remove her from the room.

Pinako responded first however, gripping her granddaughter by the arms and leading her towards the exit.

"Ed is innocent!" Winry shouted, eyes still locked on Grumman's. In a moment though, Pianko (with a little help from Al) had maneuvered the girl from the courtroom.

The room was silent for a moment, as they collectively watched the doors swing shut behind the trio.

"Well then," Grumman said after a moment, turning back to Ed. "If you make bail, Mr. Elric, you will be required to wear an ankle monitor at all times." With a quick bang of the gavel, the arraignment was over.

Ed blinked. Beside him, Hawkeye stood up. She and Mustang turned away from the table.

"That's it?" Ed asked, mind feeling vaguely sluggish, too stuck on Winry to really understand what was happening around him.

Officer Miles moved forward and grasped Ed's upper arm.

"Mustang!" Ed shouted, wrenching his arm free, and shaking his head clear. "Two hundred thousand dollars?"

Mustang glanced at his client, tearing his eyes from the chamber doors the judge had disappeared through. "Ed, I'm sorry. I have to go. Don't worry about that right now; we'll get it sorted out." The man shot a sideways glance to his paralegal, and although their eyes only connected for a moment, Ed got the feeling that he was missing an entire conversation. Hawkeye nodded, though at what exactly, Ed had no idea. Mustang turned away and rushed out of the courtroom.

"Mustang!" Ed shouted again, but his lawyer was already gone.

Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright, Ed. Officer Miles," she paused and gestured to the man who stood calmly a few paces away, apparently not offended at Ed's earlier response. "Will take you back back to the detention center. Don't worry, we'll have you out in another week or so."

"You don't understand!" Ed hissed, his voice lowering, wary of who might be eavesdropping. He paused a moment, trying to decide whether or not he could trust the woman before him. Her eyes gazed patiently at him, their soft amber color somehow calming the inner turmoil he felt. He might not understand what was happening, _how_ it could be happening, but deep in his gut he felt that he could trust her. Mustang might be a smug bastard, but during his week of incarceration, Hawkeye had given him diligent updates on Al, the case, the Rockbells. She made sure he had everything he needed and spent hours on the phone with the detention center's administration if he didn't. Ed licked his lips, praying that she wouldn't think that he was insane. "The fight on my first day—it was orchestrated."

"What?" Her eyebrows raised, and Ed was momentarily relieved at the mild reaction.

"I think Greed—the guy I punched—was working for the prosecution."

Now her eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Ed, are you sure? Do you have any proof?"

The teenager shook his head. "When Kimblee was talking, I just knew. The situation never really added up, why he went after me, why he let me hit him, but here, it clicked."

"The tape," Hawkeye said, eyes wide.

Ed nodded. "It can't be a coincidence."

She bit her lip, and Ed could almost see wheels frantically turning in her head. He could imagine what she was thinking: if whoever was running this whole thing had access to people in the detention center, they might decide that a trial would be too long and dangerous, and choose to just get rid of Ed.

The thought remained unspoken, but it hung between the two of them, it's weight almost tangible. "I'll talk to Mustang. We'll get you out as soon as possible." She frowned. "Until then stay away from him." She reached out and grabbed his arm. "Promise me, Ed."

Ed nodded.

"Okay." Hawkeye breathed a sigh of relief. After a reassuring squeeze of his arm, she nodded to Miles.

The police officer came over and this time, Ed didn't resist as he was led away.

* * *

Mustang waited outside the doors that led to Judge Grumman's chambers, tapping his foot impatiently. He didn't want to miss the man when he came out, and only hoped he had gotten there quickly enough to catch him. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing whether or not Grumman was still in his chambers without knocking or making his presence known, an option Mustang hoped to avoid.

Finally the door opened and the old man stepped out. "Mustang, my boy!" he said enthusiastically when he turned and saw the lawyer waiting for him.

Mustang frowned, clearly not sharing in the judge's joviality. "What happened in there?"

The question was curt, and though Grumman's wide smile remained intact, Mustang saw his eyes narrow slightly. "Why don't you come in?" he asked.

Mustang reluctantly followed the other man through the doors. The office was quite nice, large enough for a number of bookcases that were stuffed full of legal volumes and had solid oak paneling lining the walls.

"Now," Grumman started, turning around so he was facing the lawyer. "What was it you wanted?"

Mustang leaned against the wall, but there was a tension to his body that was at odds with the casual stance. "Ed's going to be tried as an adult?"

For the first time, Grumman's smile waned. "Questioning the decisions of a seated judge is rather inappropriate, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't give me that," Mustang responded immediately. "I know you. I know your rulings. Having a fifteen year-old kid tried in an adult criminal court doesn't exactly fall within your modus operandi." Mustang eyed the man suspiciously.

"And yet here we are." The old man's smile gave nothing away and Mustang fought the urge to pull out his hair. This was all a game of chess to him. Mustang and Grumman had been acquainted for a number of years, Grumman acting as something like a mentor to Mustang as he made his way through law school and the career that followed. In all the games of chess they had played throughout their relationship (and since both men rather enjoyed that particular from of entertainment, the number was quite high), Mustang had won a grand total of one.

"Are you working for them now?" Mustang asked, frowning.

" _Them_? That's rather melodramatic don't you think?"

Although his chess skills might have been lacking, Mustang was a good enough lawyer to recognize an evasion when he saw one. "That's not exactly an answer."

Grumman turned away from the younger man and sat in the chair behind his desk. "Well, since you've so neatly disposed of all subtlety," he said, pausing to take a breath. "Did the advantages of trying young Mr. Elric's case in an adult court occur to you?"

"Advantages? You mean spending the rest of his life in prison?"

"I mean the right to a jury trial."

Mustang's frown deepened. "You think a jury would acquit him?" he asked incredulously. "A judge is much more likely to put emotion aside and recognize that the evidence against him is circumstantial-"

"I think," Grumman interrupted calmly. "That it's much easier for outside parties to influence one person than to influence twelve."

Mustang stopped dead, surprised despite himself. After a moment of contemplation, he felt his cheeks reddening, slightly embarrassed by the fact that no, the thought hadn't occurred to him. "That's still quite a gamble.," he said carefully. "If the jury goes the wrong way, Ed's screwed."

Grumman frowned. "I'm afraid I've done all I can."

Mustang's eyes narrowed. "Not quite," he said. "You clearly know more about this whole affair than I do. Care to share that information?"

"You're mistaken, my boy," Grumman responded, all previous seriousness gone, tone settling easily back into its usual jollyness. "I am merely aware of the facts as they were presented to me: a young boy is arrested for murder, and the entire system moves to convict him. I find that suspicious, and no doubt, I am not alone in this belief," the old man's eyebrow raised at Mustang.

"Kimblee prosecuting?" Mustang guessed.

"It is a rather odd case to garner the attention of the District Attorney," Grumman allowed. "But that's not it. A few days ago, I came into my office, and found this," he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a large yellow envelope. "Under my door." He handed it to Mustang.

The other man turned it carefully in his hands. There was clearly something inside, and when he shook it loose, he found a video tape. Scrawled handwriting in black sharpie on the side read: _Edward Elric, May 19th._ Mustang did a quick calculation in his head. "The day of the fight?" he asked.

Grumman nodded. "I found Kimblee's description rather apt."

"You're not supposed to see this," Mustang said.

"Not yet, anyway," Grumman agreed.

"You have no idea who sent it to you?"

Grumman shrugged. "None at all. It would seem that someone wants Ed's case wrapped up quickly and harshly."

* * *

Winry paced the hallway outside the courtroom, annoyed. She could feel the watchful eyes of her grandmother on her at all times. She didn't need to worry; Winry had no intention of bursting back in the court. It was clear that her earlier outburst hadn't helped anything, but despite that, Winry couldn't quite bring herself to feel sorry about it. She kicked the leg of a bench angrily. She was tired of feeling useless. Her hands jittered with the need to _fix_ something.

"Winry," Al said, his tone its usual picture of calmness, and she felt the sudden urge to cry.

It was all so unfair. When she looked at Al, she could see the fear in his eyes, the fear of not only having to face a world suddenly devoid of his mother, but of his older brother as well. The fear of being totally completely alone. But here he was trying to calm _her_ down. It was all so unfair.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and hugged the boy beside her, wiping her eyes fiercely.

After they broke apart, Winry saw that he too was trying his hardest to stop tears from falling.

Her grandmother came over, and began rubbing her back comfortingly.

"You should go back in," Winry said after a moment. "Ed probably needs to see a friendly face right about now."

Pinako looked uncertain, but Al nodded his agreement.

"I'll stay out here with Winry. You should go in and see brother."

Pinako still seemed hesitant, understandably reluctant to leave her crying granddaughter in the middle of a courthouse hallway, but at the same time feeling implicitly that another one of her charges needed her more inside the courtroom. After a moment, she nodded, and disappeared through the large wooden doors.

Al turned back to Winry. "Are you alright?" he asked, brow furrowed with concern.

She pushed his shoulder playfully, still sniffling slightly. "I should be the one asking you that." She smiled, but in a second it disappeared. "Al, we need to help him."

"I know." Al looked down at his hands. "If it was me in there, brother would be doing everything he could to save me."

Winry put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It should've been me in there," Al said, voice growing hard. "Ed would know what to do."

"Al, that's the last thing in the world Ed would want," Winry said softly. "Probably the only thing that is making his situation better is knowing that it was him that forgot his metro card that morning, not you." She paused a moment before continuing. "We just have to find a way to help him."

"Where do we start?" Al asked.

"At the beginning," Winry responded, voice gaining confidence. "If the police aren't going to really investigate what happened we'll just have to do it ourselves."

* * *

"Was the meeting with Grumman productive?" Hawkeye asked after she found Mustang sitting contemplatively on a bench outside the judge's chambers.

He looked up when she spoke, but didn't seem surprised to see her there. "Where's Ed?" he asked.

"Miles is transporting him back to the detention center."

He nodded, then looked back down at the floor, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"The judge?" Hawkeye prompted.

"Oh." He took a moment to stand up and stretch. "Your grandfather is one of the more infuriating people I know."

She smiled despite herself. "That bad, huh?"

He quickly related the contents of the meeting to her.

"So we have no idea who sent him the tape?" she asked once he'd finished.

Mustang shook his head. "None at all, aside from the fact that they are somehow connected to this whole conspiracy, which we know is somehow connected to Kimblee."

"And the boy Ed got into a fight with in the detention center," Hawkeye added.

Mustang looked at her in confusion, and she filled him in on Ed's recent suspicion.

"So that makes the DA, this mysterious tape-giver, and a juvenile gangbanger." Mustang said. "Not to mention the actual killer that everyone is trying to protect. How big is this thing?"

"Could Kimblee be the one who slipped Grumman the tape?" Hawkeye asked.

"He certainly has the means to do it, but orchestrating a prison fight isn't really his style," Mustang said. "His ego is big enough to think that he could get Ed convicted without any outside help."

"Descent within the ranks?" She suggested.

"Possibly." Mustang paused. "But in order for there to be descent of this nature, there has to be at least one other party equal in stature to Kimblee. Someone else who has the means and opportunity to not only control the inside of a juvenile detention center, but to get their hands on the center's security footage as well."

"Well one thing's for certain," Hawkeye said. "We can't leave Ed in there. Who knows what will happen in a week or two."

Mustang frowned. "I can petition the court to reduce the bail, say we have concerns for Ed's safety—"

"Based on what, a hunch?" Hawkeye asked. "That won't work and you know it."

"Well then we can get a bondsman to put up the two hundred grand."

"And what should Ed use as collateral?" She asked. "his closet full of hand-me-down clothes? The science textbooks he got used at goodwill?"

He frowned. "Well what do you suggest we do?" he asked irritably. "Break him out?"

She paused a moment, contemplating her answer carefully. "You have that condo in Newark," she said finally, eyes boring into his face.

His frown deepened. "No."

"Sir—" she started, but he cut her off.

"Absolutely not!"

"As long as Ed doesn't jump bail, you'll be fine."

"As long as the hotheaded teenage boy does't do something stupid I'll be fine? Well that's a relief!"

"Roy." Her voice was curt, but it was the use of his first name that really caught his attention. "There's no other option. We can't leave him in there."

He observed her straight posture and the absolute certainty in her eyes that she was right. His chest deflated a bit. "Dammit."

And she knew that she had won.

"But I swear to God, Riza, if he does anything stupid I'm blaming you."

"And I accept that responsibility, sir," she said smiling.

Mustang sighed. "I hate it when you're right." He paused. "Come on, let's go make Ed's bail."

* * *

 **A/N As always, thank you guys for all the support, and I'd love to get any feedback you might want to give. Please forgive my inability to update consistently, but the more reviews the faster I type :). I love all you, and to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited, I really appreciate it!**


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